Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Batman and the Mad Monk, Issue #1 – “Dark Moon Rising (Part 1)”!

I’m continuing my Batman journey with what I’m told is next on the essentials list. That would be Batman and the Mad Monk. I don’t know anything about it. Perhaps Batman will beat the shit out of the Dalai Lama? Because if that doesn’t happen, I want my money back. Let’s see how mad this son-of-a-bitch monk can get!

Batman and the Mad Monk, Issue #1 [October, 2006]
Written by: Matt Wagner
“Dark Moon Rising (Part 1)”

Catwoman is stealing yet another thing, because shiny objects are her bread and butter and she needs all the money she can get to pay for her ever-increasing Netflix bill. This must be in the early days when Batman barely knows her and barely fucks her and just thinks she’s some sort of horrible ne’er-do-well. Which she is.

Batman has caught Catwoman in the act at the local jewelry store (for all your jewelry needs!) She whips out her cat-o’-nine-tails and swings the hell out of it, tying up Batman’s legs and causing him to fall to the floor pathetically. “Ever try to catch a cat that didn’t want to be caught?” she asks, rhetorically obviously. Batman whacks his head on the floor! He’s really sucking at this.

Catwoman crawls up on top of him and asks who “she” is, the one with the aromatic Chanel No. 5! He gets cranky and tells her to buzz off. She starts doing cartwheels around the room, all prancin’ and dancin’.

“Perhaps it’s time I took to wearing armor underneath the outfit,” Batman thinks as he tenderly touches the scratch marks on his chest. Ol’ swipey-paws has done it again! Batman starts feeling groggy, as if Catwoman’s fingernails had been laced with some sort of sleepy drug…

It’s because his G-Spot echolocation skills are top shelf!

Meanwhile, some woman named Julie Madison WHO PROBABLY SMELLS LIKE CHANEL NO. 5 is waiting for Bruce Wayne outside of a Lacy’s department store. It’s like Macy’s but even more knock-off! She’s been waiting for almost an hour, and the store is about to close. Don’t worry, lady. Bruce is all drugged up at the moment, but he really wanted to be there. And furthermore…

Alfred rolls up in the Bentley with bad news: “Master Bruce has been unexpectedly detained by business.” How about a fucking text message next time, Alfred. Whip out that iPhone 14 Pro Max, son.

Julie is like, fuck you Alfred, you prankster you. Open the damn car! Unfortunately, Alfred will not open the damn car for her. Bruce is gone. He split. He flew the coop. He took a powder, lady. Give it up. It’s not going to get any better. Bruce Wayne is kind of a dick. Deal with it.

Julie is going to walk home. Fuck this. “Just tell him that I’ll call him tomorrow,” she says as she angrily walks away from Alfred’s excessive bowing. If I were Alfred I would hit that. He probably will.

Elsewhere, Jim “Constantly Foggy Glasses” Gordon is waiting atop a roof for Batman. No Batsignal today, no sir. This is 2006! He has a special “Bat Pager”; all he has to do is push a button and Batman will come scurrying by! Unfortunately, the police show up to the roof instead… oh wait, Gordon is also the police! Nothing to see here, then, folks.

“Well, well, Captain Gordon… up on the roof again, I see,” chimes in one of the fucking pig-ass cops. There’s a group of three of them: Jensen, Pulver, and Briggs. Gotham’s newest independent law firm. Also, bigtime jerks. “Just enjoying a smoke, Sergeant,” Gordon says, taking a fat drag. “What’s it to you?”

“They circle me wide – hot, but wary,” Gordon thinks. “They remember what happened to Flass.”

Badass Grandpa Gordon can still make his enemies bite the curb.

The thuggish cops are about to gang up on Gordon, but Gordon starts punching all three of them like some sort of martial arts expert master sensei man. Then he starts a coughing fit brought on by seven packs of cigarettes a day, which allows time for the three cops to make their move. KRAK! That’s a baton upside Gordon’s noggin. Two hold him up by the arms while the third readies a punch… but someone with a BAT WHIP, most likely some sort of bat, wraps the whip around this guy’s neck and launches him into the sun. The other two cops get nervous and start pointing their guns around the roof going “whuzzat” and “whoozere” and “honk honk awooogah”.

Batman sneaks up behind both of them while Gordon watches with a strained grimace. Whether or not Gordon is pooping, it’s hard to tell. But that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Gordon is grimacing (read: pooping). “It occurs to me that this is the first time,” Gordon thinks. “The first time I’ve ever actually seen him in action. And again, he’s fighting cops. What the hell is wrong with this city?”

Long story short, Batman takes these two guys out like he’s beating up children. Just punching and kicking helpless little schoolchildren. Brass knuckles to their fucking faces. We’re talking knocking out their precious little baby teeth. Just a face full of boot. Batman hangs one guy over the edge of the roof and relays a very important message: this rooftop is off-limits to everyone EXCEPT Gordon! Fucker! Eat my shit!

Batman throws him off the roof with a rope tied around his legs. He hangs in the air halfway down the building. Batman jerks the rope violently as he places him safely to the street. “On his lips, just the hint of a smile,” Gordon notices. Gordon is pretty amazed. Aroused, even.

I cut myself shaving, nerd. What’s it to ya?

They shake hands while Batman fights the cat claw grogginess. Gordon asks what happened to his sexy chest with all the scratch marks. Batman says he got scratched. This is a very enlightening conversation. So let’s skip it and hop right into a discussion about Hugo Strange. “He was abandoned as a child,” says Gordon. “Grew up in state homes. A bright kid, but he apparently had a hell of a temper. Nobody knows how he put himself through college and medical school. He’s dedicated, I’ll say that.”

They’re gonna keep a close eye on this Strange fellow, make sure he doesn’t do anything strange. In the meantime, Gordon wants to take Batman on a field trip to the morgue. There’s something there he’d like Batman to see! I hope it’s Matthew Perry!

Julie has arrived at her apartment, which she shares with her alcoholic father. He can’t stay mad at Bruce, that’s something she realized on the way home. His touch is so soft. His kisses are so supple. His TV dinners are so delicious.

The lights aren’t working in the main living area. Julie finds her dad poring over a notepad with a lamp on; a bottle of only the finest bourbon by his side! “Daddy and I have hardly spoken since he confessed his… crimes to me,” Julie thinks. “I hate to call it that.”

Dad gets feral. They need the lights off! They need to lay low! Especially at night! Sounds like alcohol hallucinations to me. Julie tries to help him to bed while reminiscing about how much Bruce got him out of a jam (very much so). Daddy Dearest’s eyes are darting around his head. “I swear I’m fine…” he says like someone who is definitely not fine at all.

Julie checks her father’s notepad. It’s covered in sketches of bats. And bat-like men.

Gordon and Batman arrive at the morgue as chipper as a spring sunrise! The coroner, Murray, owes Gordon about 400 favors so he lets them in. For ten minutes only, or else it’ll be his ass on one of these roly tables, you feel me?

“The victim was fished out of the East River,” Gordon explains as they walk to the back where all the dead bodies are stored for future entertainment. “A tugboat spotted her. She wasn’t in the water very long, so the body’s still in good shape.”

Young. No positive ID. Manner of death? A ragged jugular wound. Throat’s been ripped out, Jim. Perhaps it was East River sharks? Her neck looks like it’s been chewed up a bit. East River Piranhas? But here’s the kicker: her veins were almost completely drained of blood. East River Vampires?

Check this out, Batty! Here’s another victim for you with identical mortal wounds! He was discovered in the basement of a building set up for demolition and implosions and squatting degenerates. Bloodless veins. No saliva.

Like fuck they are. This is my city! I’ll be the one biting necks around here!

At the 3rd Avenue Night Club, a young woman thinks to herself about searching carefully for only the freshest veins, per Niccolai. “Only then shall the Brotherhood make good on its potential… and achieve the eternal night.”

A woman at the bar complains about how boring the 3rd Avenue Night Club is. It smacks of bush league 2nd Avenue Night Club material! Another woman asks why she’s there, then. It’s because it’s a habit. She’s been coming here since she arrived in Gotham years ago. Not from this city, eh? Excellent.

The other woman, the non-complainy woman, is named Dala. She has tattoos and a corset and she looks like she’s about ready to step on some john’s face with high heels. She fishes for info about the complainy woman’s past and learns that she has no family. Excellent.

Dala sprays an intoxicating perfume on her wrist and forces the woman to inhale deeply. The woman starts passing out slowly. Dala leads her out of the building and to the street.

Stop talking, lady. It makes your meat all stringy.

Dala leads the woman to a car surrounded by… er, “friends”. “She will sleep for several hours,” Dala tells the group as she puts up a hood. “We must summon the rest of the Brotherhood. Tonight, the blood moon shall be filled.”

Yeah. Filled with cum. lmao

Final Thoughts

Where do the mad monks come in? One issue down and there are no mad monks???

It’s just gonna be vampires? I already have a section for vampire comics! Batman is out of his element here, for sure. Bring on the teenage girls with the wooden sticks.