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Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

DON'T call him Bubbles

Like most people my age, my first exposure to Bats was in comics, probably in the famously lantern-jawed, unitoothed  Bob Kane 60's mode:

Followed closely by, of course, the fuckin TV show

Now I ain't about to sit here and jump on the you-know-what wagon and mock the TV show, making fun of Adam West's physique and all that shit (although, can ANYONE explain WTF is going with their crotches there???).
I was, you know, 7.
It WAS Batman, you know, like you believe about TV when you're that age.
Two nights a week, I'd ask to be excused from the table early, so that at 7 pm sharp, I'd be ready with a yellow bath towel tucked into my collar, and when this started

I'd be jumping all over the furniture, sofa to chair, pretending to biff the bad guys.

Yeah, a yellow towel.
Like Robin.
How could I pretend to be Batman, I was fucking SEVEN, that would be stupid, jeez, what's wrong with you?
(Yes, I have this credibility polyp on my imagination, remind me to tell you about my sexual fantasies sometimes)
Anyways, it was all about Bats.
And even though I saw the TV show, I knew what Bats looked like.
Exactly like this:

And he wasn't just the best, he was the ONLY real superhero, especially compared to that other one.
Of course I read lots of other comics, but I honestly couldn't fathom how anyone with even half a fucking brain could prefer The Big Red Boy Scout over the Darknight Detective.
Seriously, I mean, this:


Uhhh, hello?

Really, for the love of fuck, Red was all about RULES, Bats was all about BREAKING rules.

Big Red:


Ask to see his 10-40.
Go on, I'll wait.

Fucking Superman is a fucking ALIEN, man! He can do ANYTHING!
And what does he do?

Batman is a marginally improved version of me and you. What does he do?

Rescues a city of millions from a homicidal psychopath.


With extreme prejudice.

Oh, and Superman?

To Be Continued


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