Superhero Diaries

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

Today’s Author: Batman

Ugh.  I have to go to the doctor today.  I hate going to the doctor.  Admittedly, it’s not the most convenient pet peeve to have when you get shot at on a nightly basis, and routinely fight superpowered space aliens.  The thing is, I don’t have a problem getting bullets removed or having my shoulder popped back into its socket - I’m sorta tough, as it turns out – Alfred takes care of all that, though it means the floors go another week without sweeping. 

What I hate is the “normal” doctor things: peeing in a cup, getting X-rays, etc.  Why?  Because I can’t punch cancer in the face and you’d better believe that bad boy is coming for me.  Think about it:  I have been exposed to Scarecrow’s Nerve Toxins, Joker’s Smile Gas, Poison Ivy’s… um, let’s skip what Poison Ivy has exposed to me.  I also get X-rayed about 50 times a month by that oversized Kryptonian a-hole.  He thinks it’s funny.  My mask and codpiece may both be lead-lined (there are many good reasons for this), but I keep telling him, “Dude; it’s RADIATION.  Not cool.”  Half the time he’s not even using his X-ray vision; he’s just squinting at me because it makes me squirm.  For the umpteenth time, I wish I had Kryptonite breath.

(And yes, I hate needles too, but I want it on the record that use after years of training I have difficulty just LETTING someone stab me.  It is in no way because they are EXTREMELY scary and totally gross and they make me feel all nauseous to look at them.) 

So yeah, I hate going to the doctor, and now I have to go because in the future, people fight like dicks. Allow me to elaborate:

A while back Superman wrote about the band of nitwits and pseudo-strippers that make up the new Justice League of America.  Well, we’ve got ourselves a doozy of a case now.   Without warning, seven members of the Legion of Superheroes arrived in the present, in some sort of hypnotic trance with no idea of who they were or what they were doing here.  Think Twelve Monkeys, if Bruce Willis could fly.

About the Legion of Superheroes:  Sometime in the future, a band of intrepid youngsters from across the galaxy will join forces to create the single lamest group of people in human history.  First of all, they have the boundless, annoying enthusiasm of honor students; The Legion of Hall Monitors would be a more appropriate title.  Second of all, here are several examples of their codenames: Sun Boy, Ultra-Boy, Saturn Girl, Cosmic Boy, Lightning Lad (way to go off-script there, LL), Chameleon Boy and…I kid you not…Karate Kid.  Let’s ignore Karate Kid for a second; I need to point out that these guys have been in the business for several years.  What I mean is that it’s cute when an eight-year old decides that the chameleon is the coolest animal ever, then puts on a cape and calls himself Chameleon Boy.  When “Chameleon Boy” is thirty-five, you don’t get the feeling that his tree house is the safest place to be.  Someone should tell them that it’s okay if they want to rename themselves, though I don’t get the feeling that’s what they want.  They say “sprock” instead of swear words.  Again…they’re middle-aged.  They give me the willies; I won’t lie.

The Legion originally appeared when Clark was a young teenager.  He was moping around Kansas, feeling sorry for his superpowered self because none of the other boys could fly and he couldn’t play games with them for fear of…well…obliterating them.  What a baby.  Around here in the Batcave, we have a rule: No sympathy for anyone with parents.  Anyway, one day these kids showed up in dopey outfits and told him that they came from the future, and that he would grow up to be a hero whose legend is their inspiration.  For some reason, this didn’t depress him, and they all went off to the future and had a bunch of adventures that make Lassie episodes seem edgy. (Clark doesn’t think it’s funny when I call them the Ghosts of Lameness Future, but Green Lantern cracks up every time.)

Earlier I mentioned Karate Kid; he was one of the seven who appeared the other day (along with his blatant copyright infringement).  Black Lightning, (whose name seems downright MYSTERIOUS next to the Legion of Dorks) caught him dressed up as a villain named Trident, knocked him unconscious, and brought him back to the Batcave so I could figure out what was going on.   I started by hacking into Clark’s files.  I bet you can’t guess what his power is.  Did you say “karate”?  Oh.  Damn it.  HOW DID YOU KNOW???

In Clark’s files, Daniel-san is listed as a “class 15” fighter.  For comparison, I’m a “class 12”, but I’m not too broken up about being rated lower.  It’s an arbitrary rating system; Superman made it up.  More often than not, your rating indicates how much he likes you.  (Pa Kent is rated “a kabillion.”)  So when I heard Mr. Miyagi waking up behind me, I wasn’t exactly pissing myself.

I also wasn’t about to warn Black Lightning, who had yelled at me a couple days earlier when I called him, “my brother from another mother.”  (I don’t even know why I said that.  I never say that.  I just get uncomfortable around him sometimes.)  Karate Kid chopped him in the neck, which I figured made us even.  It was time for me to hand down a blast-from-the-past ass whooping.

Remember what I said earlier about having to go to the doctor?  You probably can guess how the fight turned out.  I got in one good punch, then before I knew it, my face is bleeding, my Batsuit is ripped to hell, and the cocky mothersprocker is wearing my utility belt over his shoulder.  I also notice my right side kind of hurts.  That’s when he says, “Your stance just shifted to your left leg.  That pain you feel in your right? I gave you a hernia.”

What. The. Sprock.  A hernia??? What kind of bitch-fu is that?  I swear to God, if I ever heard of one of the Robins doing that, they’d spend a looooooong time-out in the most guano-deep corner of the cave.   Luckily Black Lightning woke up and shocked him from behind before the kid could start pulling hair and scratching.  (Of course when I tried to give B.L. a “thank you” fist pound he just snorted and shook his head.  Prick.)

So that’s why I have to go the doctor – a hernia.  In case none of you readers know how a hernia exam works, the doctor puts his fingers right above your testicles, then pushes in and up like he’s trying to sneak up on your esophagus.  But I got my revenge: I gave Karate Kid AIDS.  Before you start calling me a monster, remember, the guy came from the 30th century - AIDS to them is like syphilis to us.  He’ll have to go on antibiotics for a week and everyone will assume that he slept with a hooker.  (At least, that’s what I assume.  They’ve GOT to have a cure by then, right?)

Whatever.  The guy is a sprocksucker.

This Diary was based on JLA #8 by Brad Meltzer.  I THINK the writing is good, but admittedly I”m distracted by the level of uncomfortable-fantasy-hotness in both the covers by Michael Turner and the art by Ed Benes. 

Something tells me that both of them have interesting stuff in their locked desk drawers.