Devoted students of Discordianism, Black Ops is the division of Darwin Central responsible for promoting the theory of evolution by sowing dissent, strife, and chaos among the enemies of Darwin and Darwin Central, thereby subverting the opposition. Or at least, that’s what Black Ops used to do. The opposition is generally pretty effective at subverting itself due to rank stupidity any more, so nowadays Black Ops spends its time and enormous budget using supercomputers to create ever-more fiendish Sudoku puzzles.

Bones is a pseudonym for the elite, permanent staff of the Fossil Wing at Darwin Central. These hard-working individuals have dedicated their lives to the minute study of osteological minutiae. As a final test, before being accepted to full professorship, candidates must demonstrate their prowess by reconstructing an entire fossil hominid population, for six generations in either direction, from a single fossilized toe bone.

Central Archivist is the unsung hero of the basement vaults at Darwin Central. It is his thankless task to catalog the massive amounts of data flowing daily from DC operatives around the world. During his miniscule free time he enjoys reading cereal boxes, moonlit afternoon walks, and romantic dinners for one.

Insanity found yet another companion at Darwin Central in Desty Nova. She spends most of her time at the janitorial division, but she stands in reserve for the CYA division, ready to use her house cortical alteration techniques, involving hacksaws and icepicks, to erase memories should anyone stumble upon evidence of young-earth creationism.

Like the original Yaghan aboriginal of Tierra del Fuego, DC’s own Jemmy Button was carried off to England at a tender age with a view to “civilizing” him, which project was an abject failure. Indeed, Button may be said to have instead introduced barbaric savagery to England. As Darwin said of his namesake, our Jemmy’s discourse may be characterized as “yammerschoonering.” His obnoxious refusal to replace his UK with a US spell-checker is only one, and doubtless the least, of his manifold faults.

Long Cut, late of Basin City, USA, is widely considered at Darwin Central to be an evolutionary throwback to the Neandertal branch of the primate species. He is seven feet tall and 300 pounds, and also apparently has no qualms whatsoever about extreme violence and brutality, when his personal sense of honor is violated. Furthermore, he seems to have no sense of pain at all. Hence, when he isn’t busy keeping order in DC’s after-hours club, he can often be found doing certain…”odd jobs” on behalf of The Conspiracy That Cares. Despite questions about his progress down the evolutionary highway, he seems quite adept at the use of tools, specifically hacksaws, razor wire, rubber tubing, hatchets, something he calls “Gladys”, and “his mitts”. He does go through what seems to be an inordinate number of “fine coats”, although he never seems to pay for them.

Midwife Toad is a bit reclusive these days, having been the object of scorn and ridicule ever since that thing with Paul Kammerer. Poor Dr. Kammerer. Toad did his best to explain the accident, and even had The Searchers write a song about it, but to no avail. In the end, Toad’s agent decided it was better to let Kammerer take the fall than admit the Wet One had mistaken cayenne pepper for Viagra. Somewhat later the Toad mounted an amphibious assault on Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam, not far in space or time from where a famous presidential candidate won his first Purple Heart. Toad’s actual mission in the war was somewhat cryptic, and he was advised to keep it under his hat. Unfortunately, Toad’s hat was misplaced at a Christmas Eve party, somewhere near Cambodia.

We are all Brothers in PondScum. From PondScum we came and to PondScum we will return. It is dirty, grimy, stinky, filthy and full of life begetting life. It is everywhere. It grows in the basement and cellars of Darwin Central. It grown in the urinals. It is the great vat of pulsating protoplasm. It makes life. It takes life and, yes, We Are All Brothers in PondScum.

Ever vigilant, The Lone Beagle silently stalks the desolate night halls of Darwin Central, seeking out the insidious infiltration of odiferous creationist drivel, eager to express his personal contempt for any and all anti-evolutionary vermin. When not actively hunting creo-memes, The Lone Beagle is overjoyed at the prospect of leaving many presents for the Grand Master in the hallways of Darwin Central.