Damn your eyes, Three Wolf Moon

For years now I was part of the circle of supermetropolitan life - I would lurk in my secret lair silhouetted high on Deathgouge Mountain, with a pall of sickly clouds hovering overhead. Regularly as clockwork, I would foment my diabolical schemes to inflict upon nearby Sapien City - a swarm of plague-carrying otters, a death ray that would instantly kill anyone with an 'R' in their name, turning the water supply green so that the placebo effect would convince civilians that it was poisoned and keel over. And regularly as clockwork, my arch nemeses would appear - Bicep Man, Testosterzone and Sparkling Unicorn Girl to thwart my plans but never actually lock me up or impair my mysterious source of income, meaning I could try it again the following week.Then comes Three Wolf Moon - he's not even a proper superhero, he was never bitten by a radioactive animal, or exposed to gamma rays or even born on a strange planet that happens to have a compatible atmosphere to Earth. Instead he spent fifteen dollars on an online shirt, and managed in one fell swoop to not only foil the most devious scheme yet (an army of sentient clouds who would follow people around, depriving them of natural sunlight and making them more susceptible to seasonal affective disorder), but he had the gall to use the power of the shirt to infiltrate my hideout and bring me to what you fools laughingly call "justice".Let me recap. It is a sick world in which we live where a simple shirt can give the wearer the power to teleport through time itself, appearing just inside the reinforced armourmantium double doors of my hideout and freezing all of my lackeys by flattening their time/space curve. How can a garment let one run at twice the speed of sound, shattering delicate instruments and camera lenses, whilst simultaneously being invisible to all known wavelengths? What makes a 100% cotton and hand-dyed piece of clothing grant the bearer the ability to turn into a Moon God Wolf Specter, able to pass through walls, grow to the size of a truck and summon hordes of other Moon God Wolf Specters to do their bidding? And finally, how in the name of all that is dark and unholy can it let someone named Barry, who lives in his family's basement and cites his favorite food group as "snack", appear out of the very shadows in my throne room, split into four elemental beings and nullify my death field I always keep in my belt?Needless to say, it somewhat upset the status quo of the city - without a supervillain to oppose, Bicep Man and Sparkling Unicorn Girl left to fight crime elsewhere, depriving the coffers of Sapien City a massive injection of tourist funds, whereas Testosterzone took to petty vandalism and has now accounted for eighteen historic landmarks thrown into orbit due to boredom. The meddling fool who captured me (and also wrecked my lair, may I add, leading to the deaths of forty seven personnel, bankrupting several compensation companies for claims by their families, and leading to mass employment among the survivors) claimed he was "just doing his job", and was given the (grudging, I would like to point out) thanks by the Mayor.Due to past services towards the tourism industry I have been given a suspended sentence and am currently in a rehabilitation project in order to ease my transition into society. However, this is less than ideal, as my bionic claw keeps crushing the basket when removing the fries, and although I try my best to avoid asking customers if they want "anthrax with that", old habits die hard and I am on my final written warning. Damn you, Three Wolf Moon, and all who use your powers!