Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #3 – “Shaman (Part 3)”! In the previous installment, a connection is starting to make itself clear between the Gotham drug trade, the mysterious Chubala/ritual killing problem, and Officer Al Kelly being the only victim not from the fake-ass Caribbean island Santa Prisca. And by “starting to make itself clear”, I mean “being written about by a comic book nerd who seems to be making stuff up as he goes along”.

Also a loser named Bennet Young got killed before he had a chance to “tell Batman something”.

No further statements, Your Honor. Let’s get this show on the road.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #3 [January, 1990]
Written by: Dennis O’Neil
“Shaman (Part 3)”

These cover arts aren’t very comic book-y. But they are art-y, I’ll give them that. Is that supposed to be Bruce Wayne with his Batman cowl shedding away around him like an orange peel? What’s the symbolism here, that the man behind the mask is never that far away from being completely exposed and vulnerable? And sexy? Hmm?

“A few seconds ago, he watched a man die. It is something he has never seen before. He will never get used to it.”

Thanks, mysterious narration! Are we talking about Bruce fucking Wayne, who has watched a man die? That man was his father? Hello?? A very pivotal “watched a man die” scenario in Bruce’s life? Are you serious?

Ugh. Well, at any rate, Bruce tries to comfort the maid, but he’s not very good at it. He mentions that she should call a doctor even though the doctor won’t be able to help one bit, so that’s some good bedside manner! “I’m going to check the ballroom. Maybe the killer is still around,” he says, just making an excuse to leave the room so that he doesn’t have to continue watching the dead man bleed out. Gross, right? Not really Bruce’s cup of tea.

Bruce moseys around the building, contemplating the fact that Dr. Madison “Alaskan Artifact Stealer” Spurlock was just holding a party here two days ago with laughing patrons and washed-up celebrities! Now it’s quiet and disturbing and someone died! What the fuck! People don’t just die!

Looking around the display cases, he notices artifacts absent from their respective locations: a lance (that’s in Bennet Young’s gut now, lol), a bat mask, and the bow and arrows.

Hey, only Alfred’s allowed to be snarky in this comic! Stay in your lane.

The illustrations are pretty fucking bad here, so I’ll try my best to interpret what’s going on in the next three panels: an arrow appears to be flying toward Bruce Wayne out of nowhere, Bruce Wayne notices it and catches it in mid-air, then a police officer points a gun at him and says “FREEZE! You make a move and I’ll blow you to kingdom come.”

And this police officer isn’t blowing anyone tonight! The two maids confirm that, yes, this big hunk ‘o man was with them when the other guy was dying and/or dead. Officer ACAB, who looks like a completely different person in every panel he’s in, puts down his gun and goes “daaaarrhhhh, oookkaaayyy, but you hafta make a statement.”

“I trust you used words of one syllable or less,” Alfred asks Bruce later as the story is recounted. Ha! I love you, Alfred. Unconditionally.

I suppose we’re moving on from the dead guy for now! Alfred’s driving Mr. Wayne to the Gotham City Athletic Club’s board meeting, aka the GCAC’s…BM! And while Mr. Wayne is wasting away some precious life during his performative appearance at said meeting, Alfred is to secure a plane ticket to Otter Ridge, Alaska. Why? Because don’t ask any fucking questions, Butler. That’s why!

Actually, here’s the reasoning: “Tina, the girl who killed herself…she panicked when she saw me as the Batman. Now the bat mask is stolen– a mask that came from Otter Ridge. There has to be a connection.”

Thanks Bruce, you’re a real Sherlock Robert Downey Heroin Addict Jr. Holmes with this stuff. Sounds like someone just wants to go back to bone the hot Inuit lady. Pretty transparent, sir.

BUT, before Bruce shoves off to the Last Frontier and bones the eskimo woman, he’s going to have a man-to-man chat with Dr. Madison “Supersize Me” Spurlock.

“Ah, Alfred? Shouldn’t you be making notes on my instructions?” prods the micromanaging Bruce.
“Why? Have we acquired stock in a paper company?” responds the ever-deadpan Alfred. This fucking guy! My man!

On his way to the board meeting, a banker named Carl Fisk accosts Bruce on the street and invites him to a party that night. Fisk is very interested in buying up some Wayne property! But Bruce Wayne is all like “no way, dude, I’m gonna hella put on tights tonight and play around in the frigid cold Gotham City winter nightscape.”

And he does just that!

It’s -2°F and this dumbass is hanging out on the windy roofs of tall buildings in his thin spandex, catching frostbite on all manner of extremity. And I do mean ALL manner. Use your imagination.

Batman is keeping his eye on a guy named Grandy Jimenez, who meets with associates at midnight for a dope deal at an under-construction office building. Are one of these associates the aforementioned Robert Downey Jr.? This is 1990, after all. He was probably really getting into it then.

Anyway, Batman springs into action!

BATMAN IS ON THE SCENE! NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA!!

He swoops down and kicks a drug dealer right in the face. Then he leaves.

“What was that?”
“Where’d it go?”
“Was a big bat?”
“No…was the Bat Man!”
“We in trouble!”

Looks like the Man Bat’s reputation precedes him out on the streets, and these fools are scared shitless! And that’s good, I already can’t take anymore of this awful dialogue. Wait, here’s some more:

“Hey, I din’ buy no hassle with no Bat Man! I’m trippin’!”

Lovely. Makes me miss the slurred, guttural croaking of Stan the smelly Gotham pimp. Batman takes these bitches out one by one. A gun is pulled out, bullets are unloaded, but it’s fruitless! *punch*

Grandy Jimenez is the last one left standing. Batman rifles through some pockets and pulls out a fat stack of bills. Fifty large, son. “Grocery money, Grandy?”

Grandy gibbers and twitches. “You do remember me, don’t you?” Batman asks as he grabs the kid’s coat lapels and shakes the bejesus out of him. “You recall what happened on the hospital roof the night you tried to murder a cop?”

Oh, we were supposed to know this guy was named Grandy Jimenez before? It was never mentioned! Is this what we call non-linear storytelling? What is this, Pulp Fiction?

Hey, this wasn’t part of the deal! I’m supposed to hurt you! Not the other way around!

Well, Batman went easy on him then. Now he’s not feeling as charitable. And as he blah-blah-blahs intimidatingly, someone unaffiliated with this troupe of thugs sneaks up behind the caped nerd and bashes him in the dome with a large sack of concrete mix.

The thugs don’t see who did it. “Somethin’ fell on him. Must be Chubala magic,” one postulates as Batman lies crying and hurt and totally bitchmade on the ground. “Chubala on our side, we okay. We can kill him.”

Batman looks sad and helpless as these dudes just start kicking his torso with their pointy thug boots. He’s pretending to be a big man about this, pretending that this is all part of his plan as this situation “buys him time” and he “tenses his muscles” to avoid the “real damage” like he’s pulling off a huge grift here. He pretends to be out cold as the guys drag his limp bulk up eight stories of the building construction. “We push him over the edge. Yeah, it’s eight stories down. That’ll bust more’n his nose.”

Speaking of bustin’ noses, at the last second Batman pops into gear and bashes two heads together. A couple more panels of successful ass-kicking commences…until he gets an arrow in the back. He wasn’t watching this one!

He sees a vision of big, scary, bat mask shaman bullshit as he becomes disoriented and topples over the edge of the building. Perhaps this is the Chubala? I dunno. He really wants to kill Batman though, aiming more arrows at his face. Batman thinks quickly and uses his cape to guard his gloves as he slides down a steel cable. His cape is torn to shreds, but he’s relatively unhurt…except for the giant arrow wound in his back.

Presumably, Batman scuffles back home as soon as possible so he can regale Alfred with all his heroic tales. As if he cares.

Getting turned into Swiss cheese by a barrage of arrows is less than ideal, sir. I don’t really want to…touch your lumpy torso.

“If you continue to involve yourself in these contretemps, our clothing bill will soon exceed the national debt,” Alfred scolds, inspecting the shredded cape, “and our bandage bill will exceed that.”

As usual, Bruce doesn’t acknowledge Alfred’s prattling. He’s thinking about why his assailant was wearing a dang shaman bat mask at all. Alaska is the key! Gotta go to Alaska! Gotta bone that lady…

Alfred has some insight. These ritual cult killings in town? They’ve been going on long before Dr. Spurlock’s trip. Hell, long before Bruce even helped fund Spurlock’s research. Bruce admits that it doesn’t make sense, but the connection is there, and you can’t very well talk this man out of anything! Not until he gets a little bit more symmetrical with his back wounds, at the very least!

So Bruce gets up to put on his Batman spandex, intending to have his audience with Dr. Spurlock come hell or high water! Just…just after…just after he passes out a bit…

Bruce almost tips over in an exhausted daze. Alfred helps the tuckered-out little bat boy to his quarters. “It’s nearly five in the morning, you’ve been up for forty-eight hours, and I believe bats sleep during the day.”

When you’re right, you’re right, Alfred! And you’re always right! What would Bruce do without you, sweetie? *kiss*

And then he dropped his pants and took a giant dump in my mouth.

The next day, Bruce pops into Dr. Spurlock’s Gotham University office, looking like a complete pile of shitty, busted up, smiling garbage. All bandaged and bruised and roughed-up and tenderized. “Absolutely ferocious game of tennis at the club yesterday,” he chuckles, the cut-up that he is! Soooo cute!

Spurlock ain’t charmed. He looks annoyed that this pretty boy is even speaking in the same room that happens to presently be within.

Bruce cuts to the chase. Alfred’s niece, let’s just say her name is “Alfreda”, is doing a term paper on primitive religions! And since she ain’t got no internet in 1990, Bruce is here to bend Spurlock’s ear. Ever heard of the “Chubala”? Lay it on him. Spill.

Chubala, huh? It’s a Santa Prisca cult based around a vulture god. A real motherfucking savage. The only way the god can be appeased is to throw him some human meat, yo. Ritual killings, sacrifices. I mean, which cult isn’t killing people these days? There’s also no Heaven with Chubala, only Hell. Neat, huh? If the vulture god is displeased, to Hell you go! And in Hell, you get a stomach full of rats that just gnaw away for all eternity! However, if you’ve been a good girl or boy by killing enough people, the vulture god will spare you by just ending your life and you get to enjoy an eternity of nothingness.

Or, you could just not be part of the cult. That seems like a less laborious option. Not as much baggage with that one.

The leader guy for the ritual killings is an avatar for the god. He becomes Chubala, so to speak. At least until the sacrifice is over. Cool, huh?

“Does this Chubala have a connection to those Alaskan Indians of yours?” Bruce asks. Now you’ve gone and done it. Spurlock eyeballs this young millionaire playboy like he said the most filthy, racist thing since the Third Reich and begins to give him a verbal licking!

Spurlock doesn’t get to say much, though. Something funny happens instead!

Total cuck move, dude, getting killed with an arrow in broad daylight on a major college campus.

So this guy’s dead now. Another arrow flies through the air, which Bruce narrowly ducks. And it’s too bad, too, because Alfred’s soft hands are just what the doctor ordered at the moment.

Bruce sees the masked assailant, who starts fleeing. Bruce doesn’t even bother running after him.

“In broad daylight, Alfred,” Bruce says incredulously. He doesn’t know what’s worse: that the guy was killed, that the guy was killed in broad daylight, or that Bruce did nothing. NOTHING! NOTHING! He was helpless! Like a fragile, little, helpless baby! Wah, Alfred! Goo goo ga ga! WAAAAHHH!!

Alfred suggests he suck it up. But no, this is three times this assailant has won! THREE TIMES! WAAAAHHH!!

“Maybe I should just admit that he’s better than me. Maybe there are hundreds more like him.” Ah, so this is what it’s about? A bigger dick contest? It’s always this with you, isn’t it? Feeling inadequate?

“Before you abandon your nocturnal activities and resign yourself to a life of sanity, you might consider pursuing other theories,” Alfred nudges, not content to see Bruce blither and stew in a pool of his own hapless, sad-sack filth. There’s still the whole Otter Ridge, Alaska connection. Huh, buddy? Go get your dick wet.

Yes…yes, that’s a good idea Alfie m’boy! Have you arranged for a flight to– that a boy! Bruce is fired up now! Let’s go hang out with some moose.

“Shall I pack this?” Alfred asks, holding up the ratty Batman uniform. Yeah, sure, it might come in useful. Maybe he can use it as a shammy or something.

Bruce is on his way! I guess this little community was really developed since he was there…like, seven months ago? What does that mean, exactly? They got a 7-Eleven?

Woo! Bon Jovi’s really tearing it up tonight!

Upon landing in the little town, Bruce immediately spots the shaman healer shaking his moneymaker in the town square and recognizes him (a little too vaguely, honestly) as the man who helped save his life when his ass was turning into a large, ugly ice cube in the middle of the tundra.

“Hey man, I gotta tell ya ya’d flop on American Bandstand!” heckles some blond sex offender mustache guy. Shaman Healer Man collects his busking money and takes a large swig from a bottle. “What happened to his dignity?” Bruce thinks as the Shaman Healer Man’s sexy granddaughter helps him to his feet and starts dragging his shiftless butt home.

“Hey, wait up!” Bruce yells, chasing down the woman. As I recall, he never learned her name. She remembers him, though, hoo boy. Just moist in the nethers with recollection, I’m sure. Here, maybe this will take the wind out of your little horny sails, Bruce: “You! How could I forget you, you–”

“–bastard!”

Eep!

Then a smack across the face! Take that, ya bastard!

She walks away, but he has the nerve to follow her to her car.

“What did I do?” he asks sheepishly.
“You are telling me you do not know?” she responds puzzled. Then allows him in her truck. Then tells him that he’s the reason that dead piece of shit Madison Spurlock visited their sacred village. Everything was simple, comfortable, impoverished yet satisfying. Then this fucking entitled white guy showed up, showed them all shit like cable TV and alcohol and Julia Roberts! Tongues loosened! All hell broke loose! Now everyone knows our secrets!

This still-nameless woman, she thinks Spurlock drugged her grandfather with truth serum. Now he is filled with shame, drowning out his sorrows with booze and snorting crushed-up rohypnol.

So, yeah, your fault Bruce Wayne. I guess.

“I told you we wanted nothing of your generosity– why did you not listen?” she asks, tears running down her face.

Bruce already forgot what he was ashamed about. “Did Spurlock take anything back with him?” he asks her, smiling like a Ken doll. Like a former-Batman Michael Keaton in Toy Story 3 Ken doll. Yes, he took a bunch of medicine and a bat mask. Ha ha! The plot thickens! Sort of.

He tells this STILL-nameless woman that Spurlock and his assistant are dead. Some dude in the bat mask killed both of them.

“I’m not surprised. I can explain–” she begins, but she can’t even start her explanation. Someone is going to collide with her truck.

Look out for ugly, tasteless sedans with at least three different colors.

They collide, not even with a crash! They collide with a TLASH! And I can’t believe this dinky little car won the momentum war. Her truck gets pushed off the road, off the side of the mountain cliff, then breaking through an icy lake.

The truck begins to submerge under the water.

Final Thoughts

What the fuck, not every issue has to end with a completely nuts cliffhanger! First a a lady dies. Then a a guy dies. What’s this now? A lady and a guy dies? Madness.