Superhero Diaries

The Superhero Diaries: by those who truly wear their underpants on the outside.

Today’s Author: Batman

Y’know, I told myself before I even sat down that I didn’t want to write another post about the Robins. I’ve been sounding like a whiny little girl lately, and what’s worse is that I’m whining about my family, the very thing I’ve wished for ever since my parents were gunned down in front of me. But maybe I should have taken the hint that bachelorhood was the way to go.

As I mentioned in my last post, my “son” Damien recently came to stay with me. Now, I’ve seen “Annie”, and I won’t lie to you: I was kind of hoping it’d turn out like that. I’ve been humming ‘Tomorrow’ for the past week and a half. But I swear sometimes he makes me so mad I could just drown him in the river if it didn’t mean I’d have to administer some kind of vigilante ass-kicking to myself.

The kid is a nightmare. Now, I know how hard it can be on families when there’s only one parent in the child’s life. I’ve seen a ton of specials on Oprah about it, and they always break my heart. But until he watches his parents get shot in an alley I really don’t have that much sympathy for him. Yet from the first moment he got here he’s been throwing some world-class tantrums that have made me wonder if teenage boys and hand-to-hand combat training are a good combination. It’s less like he was raised by the League of Assassins…more like the League of Assholes! (Hah! I have to remember to use that one.)

I tried locking the kid in a room, but he broke out. Then he tried to impress me by killing one my weirdo villains, the Spook. It’s cute when a kid wants to be like his old man, like when you see a kid putting on his father’s suit, or learning how to shave. It just loses a little something when the kid beheads a guy and wants to get a pat on the head for it. Admittedly, one part of me just wanted to give him a big ol’ hug, but this was one of those times where I had to be ‘the dad’, because we have a very strict “don’t kill people” rule in this house, and as long as he’s living under my roof he’s going to do what I say. (I also wish that, as long as he was going to kill a guy, that he’d have killed a better one. I mean…the Spook??? The guy was as dangerous as an ingrown toenail. If you want to make dad’s life a little easier, kill Two-Face next time. I mean, I don’t even really want that, but… nevermind. I’m just tired and I’ve got a lot going on at work these days…)

Then he and Robin apparently got into a little spat in the cave. You know how boys are. But it would appear that Robin got his ass handed to him, and I can’t help but be disappointed in Robin. I’ve read that you’re not supposed to tell your children that, but Tim is Robin, for cryin’ out loud. I don’t care if Damien did grow up with the league of Assassins, Tim’s the one wearing the mask, and he let down the entire bat-family. I hate to say it, but this never would have happened to Dick.

Now, obviously I’m concerned for Tim. He’ll live, but he’s obviously banged up; Damien kicked him about a hundred feet down the Cave. And I’m sure he only let his guard down because he wanted to be nice to the new member of our little family, but I have warned him about compassion before. (Also, this really reinforces my whole “family equals pain” thing, much to the happiness of my therapist’s checking account.)

The worst part is that I have no idea what to do about this. I hit them both with a couple of tranquilizer darts and tied them up in different wings of the house, but it’s only a matter of time before explosives start flying. Meanwhile Alfred’s been too busy looking after Bratty McShithead to do his other work, and if he doesn’t get to the laundry soon I’m going to be fighting crime in sweat pants.

Obviously parenting is hard. If it weren’t, there wouldn’t be so many self-help books on the subject. But those books suck. I bet a lot of people say this, but none of them seem to address my particular issues. For instance, I went on a message board and posted the question, “my teenage son beheaded a guy and kicked my other son into a cave. What do I do? (Just for the sake of accuracy, they’re not my sons; they’re adopted.)” Now I’ve got Social Services breathing down my neck. Obviously I need to turn to people who really understand the unique type of situation I’m in

Superman seems like he’d have good advice about raising a kid, but the other day I asked him and he said, and I quote: “Well, my Pa used to always say that when you’ve got gophers, sometimes you can’t grow wheat.” It really helps if you try not to think about it. Meanwhile Wonder Woman was made out of clay and still doesn’t quite see the difference between human reproductive organs and the Play-Doh factory. The only guys who I can talk to as Batman and have kids are Commissioner Gordon and Green Arrow, and Gordon only has a girl. When I need to know how to braid hair, he’s my go-to guy, but I have real problems right now, and that leaves Green Arrow. Green Arrow, who was dead during his son’s formative years while the kid grew up in one of those kung-fu monasteries. Green Arrow, whose advice is always, “I don’t know… maybe you should just die for a year or two until things blow over.”
This is why there’s no daycare center in the JLA’s moonbase.

This Superhero Diary was brought to you by Batman #657, written by Grant Morrison.

I just started a new job this week, and things have been a little hectic.  I haven’t had as much time to write lately, so I figured I’d point you guys to this hilarious Aquaman Monologue to tide you over in the meantime.  It’s funnier than whatever I’d have written, anyway.

This is why I want to be published on McSweeney’s so badly.

Put any two comic book fans in a room together, and sooner or later a sentence is going to begin, “Who would win between…” It’s similar to the well-known bit where a kid puts Insect A and Insect B in a jar and shakes it see “who wins”, as if eight earthworms will eat a beetle if they are sufficiently vibrated.

Well, this is me, doing that.

Today we pit Aquaman vs. Namor. Both men call themselves the King of Atlantis. Anywhere else in the world and this would result in a devastating civil war, but we can settle it here, man-to-man. (Note: For thematic purposes the match will be held in an aquarium rather than a jar.)

In the Red Corner: Aquaman. Aquaman is the DC Universe’s Go-Bot. He is the son of a mermaid and a lighthouse operator (a union whose sexual logistics are nightmarish to consider), born with abilities beyond that of an ordinary lifeguard. He has above-average strength, can swim at above-average speeds, and best of all, has a telepathic rapport with all sea creatures. They say that he can cause small tidal waves by “throwing water”, but since a “small tidal wave” is really subjective, I get the idea that he’s just splashing around. I can make the bed shake with a fart; doesn’t mean I can call it an earthquake.

Somehow he managed to turn all of that into a membership in the Justice League of America, though I suspect there was also some Atlantean Affirmative Action policy in place as well. Or maybe the JLA is like any Ivy League school and he just bought them a library. In any case, Aquaman likes to make himself seem important by pompously reminding everyone that 70% of the Earth is covered by the ocean. Everyone else is polite enough not to mention that all of the interesting stuff happens in that other 30%.

In the Blue Corner: Namor. Namor is Marvel Comics’ Aquaman. I have no idea who came first, and I’m too lazy to look it up on Wikipedia. Namor and Aquaman have practically the same powers, and the same aversion to wearing a shirt. The only difference is that Namor has wings on his feet that allow him to fly, because Marvel writers realized that without them he’d be entirely worthless. Bizarrely, Namor’s wings are the feathered kind.

The Handicap: To reduce Namor’s single advantage of flight, the fish tank will have a closed cover and Aquaman will enlist the help of a flying fish named Rick. To make sure Rick listened to his telepathic commands rather than Namor’s, Aquaman promised Rick that he’d help him move next weekend.

Round 1: The two combatants tread water, sizing each other up. Namor asks, “why don’t you have wings on your feet?” Aquaman replies, “Because that would be moronic.” Rick the Flying Fish murmurs, “Y’know, I’m floating right here.” Aquaman apologizes.

Noticing Aquaman’s distraction, Namor rushes forward. He and Aquaman grapple and exchange several blows, though the damage seems minimal. Rick the Flying Fish finds an out of the way corner, vaguely uncomfortable at the sight of two shirtless men in codpieces rolling around in the water. Scoring is low at the end of the round, but Namor holds a slight lead.

Round 2: As soon as the bell rings, Namor rushes down to the bottom of the aquarium and scoops up an armful of those little blue pebbles. When he rushes past Aquaman and out of the water, it becomes clear that he intends to launch a campaign of aerial pebble bombing, but Aquaman is able to dodge easily, just as Namor is able to evade Aquman’s anti-aircraft pebbles.

Ever the strategist, Aquaman sees that it is time to call forth Rick the Flying Fish. With all of his might, Rick thrusts towards the surface and leaps into the air, turning his body into an airborne missile. Unfortunately, like most fish, Rick’s eyes have difficulty focusing on targets above the surface. He misses badly, and his head collides with the top of the tank. Namor and Aquaman both stifle giggles, and Rick retreats to the bottom of the tank, muttering disparaging remarks involving both of their mothers and a pod of blue whales. The round ends without further incident.

Round 3: Believing himself to be ahead in the judges’ scoring, Namor again takes flight and intends to wait out the rest of the match. Suddenly Aquaman remembers his talent for creating “small tidal waves”, and sends a barrage of them in Namor’s direction. For the most part, Namor protects himself by shielding his hands in front of his face, but water keeps getting in his mouth and it’s really annoying. Namor dives back into the water.

Namor has noticed that while Aquaman launches his “tidal waves” with relentless fury, they lack precision and accuracy. Clearly this is a result of Aquaman being an only child. Namor, on the other hand, has several younger siblings and cousins, and has learned a much more effective splash-fight strategy. He sends several smaller, faster splashes through Aquaman’s flailing and directly into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Namor then presses his advantage and uses the confusion to grab Aquaman in a headlock and “noogie” him mercilessly. Aquaman struggles in vain to free himself, but Namor’s grip is too strong. Aquaman has no choice but to tap out and concede the match.

The Winner: Namor, by forfeit. Two weeks after the match, Aquaman is further disgraced when the Justice League of America offers his membership to Namor and informs him that he is no longer eligible for their twenty percent discount at participating AMC Theaters.

The Superhero Diaries: by those who wear their underpants on the outside.

Today’s Author: Batman

Ah, the joys of parenthood.

A couple nights ago I decided to go on a vacation.  I flew to London to attend an art opening where there happened to be several attractive ladies wearing very attractive dresses that made their boobies stick out.  Yes, Batman says boobies.  I also call a you-know-what a hoo-hah.  In my defense, my parents died when I was a kid, and studies have shown that type of trauma stunts one’s emotional growth in all kinds of ways.  Any guy who likes having his thing-a-ling kicked is free to make fun of me.

Anyway, I was working my “game” (as Robin calls it) on a girl with a nice pair when Man-Bats came through the window.  Man-Bats with swords, no less.

Note: The original Man-Bat was a man by the name of Kurt Langstrom.   Like many scientists in the 1960’s, Langstrom had some very advanced theories, but not a lot of patience.  He developed some serum based on bat genetics (I think he was trying prevent balding) but rather than wait for lengthy and costly FDA approval, he just up and injected it into himself.  As a result he was turned into a giant bat-creature (with thick, luxurious fur) that everyone named “Man-Bat.”  Get it?  Batman, Man-Bat…we’re like the green-yellow and yellow-green crayons: one of us is really superfluous.

Dealing with multiple Man-Bats with samurai swords was certainly a new twist on things, but luckily Alfred always carries a Bat-suit around in a briefcase, and after a quick costume change, I was ready to kick some arse. (Alfred’s teaching me to talk more “English”.)  Unfortunately, Arse (in the form of thirty flying ninja Man-Bats) was more than ready to kick me back.  I’m big enough to admit that I lost, but I also want everyone to point out again that there were thirty or forty of them, while I didn’t even have a Robin with me.  I also think I was still a bit jetlagged. 

Whatever the reason, I woke up in a cave in London’s sewers, captured by Talia al-Ghul.  She’s the daughter of Ra’s al-Ghul, a man who discovered a fountain of youth and over centuries formed the mysterious and powerful “League of Assassins”.  I first met the al-Ghul family when Ra’s discovered my secret identity and kidnapped Robin in order to force me to mate with his daughter and provide an heir for him.   From his hard-sell approach I always thought his daughter a real she-beast, missing some limbs and weighing in at a deuce and some change, but it turns out she’s smoking hot.  I’d have gladly done it if she had just walked up to me in a tight t-shirt and asked nicely (or just asked… or just made out with me…), but when an old man with a hairless manservant named Ubu tells you to have sex with his daughter, you say no, because that’s Pulp Fiction type stuff, right there.

Standing next to Talia was a small boy, probably about eight or nine, who she introduced as my son.  Then she asked me if I remembered the night we “shared under the desert moon under the Tropic of Cancer.”  (I certainly don’t remember her being such a chatterbox.)  Yes.  We slept together once.  She thought I would forget because at the time she had drugged me and raped me, but the only part I don’t remember is the moon, because I don’t look at that crap anyway.

As it turns out, when you sleep with the daughter of the head of the League of Assassins, there are about twenty guys with swords in the room with you.  It’s kind of a memorable experience.  Not only did I not forget it, considering the drugs and THE GUYS WITH SWORDS, just getting it up has got to be one of my most incredible achievements.  Ever. Just hearing her mention it made me want to give everybody a round of high-fives.

I’ll admit, the kid was handsome, but I was skeptical.  Modesty aside, I am rich, good looking, and I keep myself in shape, which means I get false paternity suits the way other people get the newspaper.  I may have been drugged that night, but I distinctly remember her saying she was wearing a diaphragm.  Unfortunately, before I could demand a DNA test, Talia took off and just left me with the kid.

And do you know what the first thing he said to me was?  “Father, I imagined you taller”.  What a tool. Who talks like that?  I was like, “Yeah, well, I imagined you as a single-celled gamete floating in a pond of Nonoxyl-9.  Life’s full of disappointments.”

This sucks.  As some of you may recall, I just adopted Robin like a couple months ago.  In less than a year I’ve gone to carefree billionaire playboy to Mr. Mom, and now I’m looking at twice the number of soccer practices, dentist appointments, runny noses…

This Superhero Diary was brought to you by Batman #655, #656, written by Grant Morrison, one of the top names in comic writing, and the author of one of my favorite Batman books, “Arkham Asylum”.  The story is great so far, though it’s odd how Batman immediately accepts the kid at face value as his son.