Judge Doom is what happens when you bip around in history like a hare-brained child with no regard for multi-universal consequences and the strain it takes on the squishy human psyche. Apparently, the loss of his dearest Clara and their children was enough to make the ol’ Doc snap right to his core.
Not where he should be: prison.
His head should be adorning a spike atop a parapet somewhere.
That’s an odd way to spell “melting quietly in an oil drum”, but sure.
I’d stick him in a drum of “Turpentine, acetone, benzene. [Judge Doom] calls it the dip.”
Judge Doom wouldn’t put himself, voluntarily, in the dip.
Judge Doom is what happens when you bip around in history like a hare-brained child with no regard for multi-universal consequences and the strain it takes on the squishy human psyche. Apparently, the loss of his dearest Clara and their children was enough to make the ol’ Doc snap right to his core.