The Great Hunt (Book 2) – Chapter 26: “Discord”

The Wheel of Time - Book 2 - The Great Hunt

Thom Merrilin is alive! Thom! The Rapey Gleeman! Thom Merrilin! Yippee!

Rand runs back to his Motel 6 and grabs Thom’s harp and flute. Rand insists that Loial join him to meet this dude, but Loial doesn’t wanna. Rand says “too bad” and lifts Loial by the scruff and throws him out of the inn.

They travel to Thom’s inn where they are told to wait in his room with a woman named Dena. This woman sounds hella sexy, all sorts of slim with dark shoulder-length hair and juggling about ten balls on the bed. She doesn’t want Rand and Loial to stick around, but since the innkeeper allowed them to wait (and I’m not sure who this fucking innkeeper thinks she is), Dena is like “fine”. They learn that Dena intends to be the first female gleeman. A gleewoman?! Largely nonsense! But, later, Thom says she has more talent in her fourth-dimensional penis than Rand has in his whole three-dimensional micropenis.

Anyway, Thom eventually shows up, smooches the future gleewoman, and then says “gimme day harp, boy!” After fondling it for a minute or two, he asks Dena to leave. Rand tells Thom that he has the Horn, which causes the gleeman to laugh with glee, man. Sarcastic mirth, actually. EVERYONE has the Horn these days, suuuuuure. Once Rand tells him the Moiraine assured that it was the real deal, Thom shuts his mouth.

Rand really, really, really, really wants Thom to join him on his journey back to Shienar to return the Horn, but Thom doesn’t wanna. Rand says “too bad” and lifts Thom by the scruff and–

Thom tells Loial to leave now, and he and Rand have a chat about Dragons Reborn and all that jazz. Is there a connection between the Dragon and the Horn of Valere? Thom doesn’t know this, and he knows a lot. Thom was even certain that Rand was the One, but since Moiraine left him alone to wander to country, perhaps it isn’t so. Nevertheless, Thom isn’t joining him on his quest. He’s not. He ain’t. And that’s final.

After Rand leaves, Thom thinks about the conversation they just had. Zera, the innkeeper, visits Thom and asks if he’s going to get himself all mixed up in the Game of Houses again. Sounds like it to me! Zera says he should quit the Game and marry Dena and have a brood of gleechildren.

Thom is just happy that Rand has been cut free from the Aes Sedai. Those chicks are bad news…


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Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5 – “Book I: Vader (Part 5)”

* Part 5 of 6 of the Book I: Vader storyline *

Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5 – “Book I: Vader (Part 5)”! In the previous installment, Vader, with the help of the very helpful helper Doctor Aphra, infiltrates a droid factory on Geonosis and steals a handful of them for Vader’s pursuits to build up an army.

O-O-O, their protocol droid, tortured a man who knew a thing or two about Emperor Palpatine’s commission to set up a base to train up replacements for Vader. Considering he sucks and all.

So Vader’s going to be all “not today” on their asses.

Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5 [July, 2015]
Written by: Kieron Gillen
“Book I: Vader (Part 5)”

Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5

“You know, I don’t want to jinx anything…” Aphra says to Vader as she pilots the ship “…but I think we’ve found the bad guy’s secret base.”

Indeed they have! Just kidding! But really! Nope! But yes! Ha, no. But yes! The “secret base” looks like a giant floating robot space fish with an entire city built on its back. Aphra calls it impressive. Vader calls it an abomination. Time to board the big metal fish! Aphra is excited! “This is the greatest job of my life,” she breathes.

A bunch of worker drones on the base are hanging out playing checkers and stroking their schlongs when a sudden ion burst occurs, courtesy of Doctor Aphra-disiac. Circuits are down, doors are sealed, communications are down, and the NES keeps blinking on and off. Unauthorized docking must be occurring! Zip zoom bippity boom! Let’s take care of these space pirates!

The guards grab their guns and get ready by one of the sealed doors. Slowly, as if a red lightsaber were cutting a hole in the door, a red lightsaber cuts a hole in the door. Ready to shoot, the door crumbles open and a stupid protocol droid starts waving its arms in the air.

Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5

I’m too pretty to die!

“Identify yourself!” yells a guard with the most erect penis of a gun I’ve ever seen. “What are you doing?”

Triple-Oh gibbers for a bit before BT-1 shows up to start beeping and/or booping. “I’m a distraction,” he finally utters before Vader appears in all his majestic, poopypants glory. While he and Aphra wear magnetic clamps on their boots, Vader tears a huge sphincter into the side of the skin membrane-like walls and the entire crew gets jettisoned out into space. Once those mopes are taken care of, Aphra works on resealing the wall while Vader moves in with his droid army.

Later, Aphra finds a command console and pulls up the floor plan of the base. There are still two main areas that may be filled with more “bad guys” who want to stop the “good guys”. The Barracks and the Dojo.

Excellent! Team Red, you go to the Dojo! Team Blue, you’re with Vader. Onward to the Barracks!

Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5

Let’s keep making our way through this giant ballsack.

Triple-Oh and BT-1 hang back, surmising that they are not involved and can head back to the ship…

Team Red storms the Dojo where they find two unarmed people, a man and a woman, wearing what looks like Jedi robes but they certainly cannot be. The Jedi are all fucking dead! Forget I said anything about the Jedi. Suddenly, Aphra loses contact with Team Red. Vader assembles his troops and heads toward the Dojo.

OH SHIT, THEY’RE JEDI! These two definitely-armed people recognize Vader and unsheath the lightsabers smugly.

“At last,” says the man named Morit, who Jedi Forces the door behind Vader closed. Vader’s army is now left behind. It’s just Vader now. Just Vader and the prom king and queen over here.

Oh snap! Vader can sense that the door closing wasn’t a Force thing at all! The Force is weak with these two! No Jedi! No Sith! Just a couple of assholes!

The woman, named Aiolin, starts whipping her lightsaber around and hoping it hits something. Morit says he and his sister don’t want to be the likes of Jedi or Sith! Pah! They’re all fucking dead as doornails. Aiolin says she was a great admirer of the Jedi or the Sith or whoever can Force their way out of a paper bag.

Fighting ceases when a man emerges. He’s the man who was with Palpatine in Issue #1 while Vader was getting a scolding. He looks like a Terminator T-1000. “Your presence confirms my suspicions, Vader. Be grateful I did not program myself to be capable of holding an illogical grudge.”

Oh wait, this is the Cylo-IV from the previous issue whom O-O-O interrogated and killed! But not really. This is Cylo-V now, a new and improved model. When the previous model didn’t return, he was activated. This time he’s hella immortal and won’t take no guff from no one.

Darth Vader (Vol. 1), Issue #5

Mama, someone shot muh eyeball!

Vader is not impressed. While he knew Cylo-MCMLXXVII or whatever was making apprentices here on Bad Guy Base, per Palpatine’s requests, he didn’t know that the apprentices were all gonna be bullshit. “There is nothing about the Force about anything here,” Vader whines like a little Anakin baby.

Don’t you remember, Vader old boy? They’re making replacements. For your fucking job, dude. Palpatine thinks you suck eggs and they’re making some great progress pulling you out of the role and placing you in Accounting with Susan and her lazy eye.

Cylo calls the Force obsolete. Vader calls that BLASPHEMOUS. He’s about ready to grind Cylo into manure-laced Manwich mix when another robed figure shows up to stop him. So many robed figures are showing up here. Must be a convention.

Emperor Palpatine is this new arrival, and Vader starts getting all “buhhh, buhlubuhb” about it. But this is perfect! Cylo-V can show the Emperor exactly HOW and WHY his replacements can do a much better job than *motions with thumb to Vader* this walking blowjob over here.

“Enough grandstanding, Cylo,” Palpatine rasps. “You have my presence. Show me something worthy of my attention.”

Final Thoughts

The fifth-issue slump! Always building up to the final issue of the storyline, but never truly delivering on the cliffhanger-y suspense.

Captain America : dumb :: Darth Vader : devoid of personality

See you next time.


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Aging and My 70 Year Plan!

Ima Ghost

Haha! I hope my own family shells out $3,000 for my hilarious headstone! “Here Lies Grumpy” lol lol

If you’ve read my diatribe about dying and the heat death of the universe, then you already know how petrifying I find the end of my own existence, as well as all of existence in the entire universe for that matter. That subject is old hat! While this extremely nagging notion plagues my daily life to this moment and beyond, let’s take a step back from the “me dying” and the “universe dying” part of things. Let’s talk about aging instead. You know, the process that leads up to the “me dying” part of things. Whoops, there I go again!

Right now, I’m 35 years old. That means 5 years ago I was still trying to not look like a kidnapper while I carted my then one-year-old in a stroller. That means 10 years ago I was fumbling through my newest career trying not to get fired. That means 15 years ago I was in the middle of sleeping during physics classes during college. That means 20 years ago I was trying very hard to be invisible to every single person walking through the hallways of my high school. That means 25 years ago I was playing a hell of a lot of Crash Bandicoot and Pokémon Red. That means 30 years ago I was blissfully unaware that my parents allowed me to walk around in public with a mullet long after it was fashionable for even the trashiest of trailer park dwellers.

That means 35 years ago I was some drooling little blob. And, if I’m extremely lucky, 50 years from now I’ll also some drooling little blob. We come full circle on life, and it’s disconcerting. It’s one of life’s biggest jokes, the whole deterioration one undergoes physically and mentally as they ever so slowly creep up in age. You aren’t able to lift boxes anymore. Crossword puzzles become significantly harder. Friends and family find you annoying to be around. Liver spots. Stories about shopping at Home Depot. Posting comments on newspaper comic strip websites. Bones crumbling into so many piles of ugly dust.

Certainly, there are lifestyle choices to consider as you get older. You can’t eat four pounds of pie anymore like you could during your fond college pie eating contest days. You can’t run three marathons in one day anymore like you could after getting inspired by Forrest Gump back in 1993. You should cut back to two bottles of pure malt whiskey per night if you don’t want to succumb to pesky alcoholism. I personally don’t eat pie or run marathons or drink alcohol, so I’m already in tip-top shape and ready to take on aging with gusto! Here’s my 70-year plan!

Age 45

By the time I’m 45, I want to have had climbed the career ladder so high that I can kick God in the face. I hope to be making nine figures per year sitting at a mahogany-chrome desk practicing the Vulcan hand gesture. I want to come home to my lovely wife and my awful teenage children, who I will hide from deftly by taking the secret staircase down to the MAN CAVE (a 12′ x 8′ bathroom with a broken toilet and a handheld TV). My blog will be flourishing, getting upwards of fourteen hits per day from people who want to read about my theories on Batman’s incontinence.

By 45, I hope to be in excellent shape. I want to be able to lift bags of potatoes into the house so that I can finally feed my family. I want to be able to run 75 miles to the grocery store without so much as puffing. I want my pecs to be enormous and my glutes, too, to be enormous. I want to be able to lift my petulant 16-year-old child and dunk her head in the toilet repeatedly if she keeps bringing home B- grades. I want — no, need — to be able to beat up Charles Atlas. That’ll teach him to send out bodybuilding pamphlets. What do you mean he’s dead? That won’t stop me. I’ll beat up his bones.

Charles Atlas

Charles Atlas, I will kick your puny little dead butt.

Age 55

By the time I’m 55, I want to have had retired early after making billions inventing condoms that change colors depending upon the temperature of the dick and/or vagina. I want to be able to spend my summers vomiting from seasickness while on my 4,000ft yacht and laughing at all those who dare swim in my line of fire. I want to have also invented time travel, but I’ll keep that one to myself. I will want to go back in time and kill Ronald Reagan an infinite number of hilarious ways. I want to meet the guy who first swam the English Channel and slap him silly. I want to wrangle a dinosaur. I want to take a dump on Pangaea.

Age 65

Bored with retirement, I will have become a professional ice cream taste tester for Ben & Jerry’s. I will develop and approve new fantastic flavors such as “Benito Mousse-olini” and “Sex Dynamite”. I will win the Nobel Peace Prize for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence with respect to my world renowned iced cream delights. Statues will have been erected in my image from Vilnius, Lithuania to Tam Điệp, Vietnam. People will respect me. Children will worship me. Babies will revere me. Dogs and cats will bow to my benevolence. All hamsters will have been executed under Decree S67-54 under TomWritesAboutStuff-ist law. Finally, I will have been triumphant in my war against hamsters.

Age 75

Bored with godhood, I’ll buy all the old Nintendo 3DS games that I never got around to playing and maybe finally finish Steven Erikson’s Malazan series, a task that will require 300 hours per day of free time and a three-mile long chart of characters and their titles, relationships, abilities, hobbies, and shoe sizes.

Age 85

Having given up on the Malazan series out of sheer frustration, I will have ordered my minions to dig up Steven Erikson’s bones so I can beat up his bones. Everyone’s bones will be dug up! I will punch everyone’s bones! It’s a good thing that, in the year 2073, arthritis and degenerative bone disease will be a thing of the past! Scientists will have had discovered a series of 47 shots that will render bones stronger and more resilient than titanium alloy. And not that commercially pure titanium alloy shit. My knuckle bones will be able to withstand punching other knuckle bones. I’ll be able to die a happy man.

Shriveled Alien

Grandpa! You look terrible!

Age 95

Oh, we’re not done yet. I’ll still be alive in 2083 with barely any of my faculties left. My great-grandchildren will have shackled me to a wheelchair and towed my ass to an out-of-state nursing home from the back of their car. One car for 17 great-grandchildren.

Nursing homes in 2083 will be exactly the same as nursing homes in 2023, as they are currently exactly the same as nursing homes in 1910. The only difference is that Bingo will actually be Futuristic Bingo, which is exactly like Bingo except all the numbers will be painted on a boxful of rats. You get points for each rat that runs up your pant leg and burrows into your diaper.

I expect to be running the nursing home, using my wry wit and charm and my dementia-pickled brain to schmooze the staff into giving me as much Ben & Jerry’s ice cream as I want. Also, just fill my withered ears with plenty of Frank Zappa, Ghostface Killah and grindcore and I’ll be a happy, drooling old dingbat.

Gimme some of that nursing home pussy, too. That’s the good stuff.

Age 105

I’ll certainly be dead by 2093, but in the off chance that I’m hanging on by a frayed thread, I’m going to dictate a request to the nursing home staff to load me up with enough morphine to kill a herd of elephants and then crack me in the fucking head with a baseball bat.

Barring that, maybe by then they’ll have technology to transfer my consciousness to an indestructible robot so I can live an eternity of hell on Earth, scrambling madly for anything that will cause death. Anything at all would be bliss. Launch me into the center of the sun, for the love of God. I want to die. I just want to die!

Conclusions

Wasn’t that fun, kids? I sure had fun! Here’s to a long life to me and a much shorter life to you! I kid, I kid!

But seriously, don’t steal my living thunder.


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The Great Hunt (Book 2) – Chapter 25: “Cairhien”

The Wheel of Time - Book 2 - The Great Hunt

CAPTAIN CALDEVWIN’S SECOND-IN-COMMAND + THEIR ARMY ESCORTS RAND AND HIS BUDDIES TO CAIRHIEN. SORRY, MY CAPS LOCK IS ON, LET ME JUST TURN THat off. There we go.

There’s a place called the Foregate, which is just outside of the city, where all the Aiel War refugees live. There are parades and celebrations for no reason other than it’s, like, a Tuesday. Rand likes the Foregate so much that he asks if there’s an inn there to stay at, but the soldiers are SHOCKED AT WHAT THEY HEAR, AND, OH NO, MY CAPS LOCK IS STUCK AGAIN. Apparently, if Lord Rand wants to stay in some seedy part of town like the Foregate, everyone will be suspicious. Se, begrudgingly, he accepts a stay at an inn within the city: The Defender of the Dragonwall.

Rand thinks this inn smells like poop and he wants to return to the Foregate forthwith. Loial doesn’t want to go because he doesn’t want to bump into other Ogier (since he’s near the stedding where he was exiled). Hurin doesn’t want to go because the Foregate can be rather dangerous and he’s a pussy.

Down in the common room, Rand is presented with three sealed envelopes — invitations from noble Houses! Rand does not want to play the Game of Houses, so he declines ALL the invitations! Hurin tells him he needs to play the Game or else suspicions will arise, which Rand is like “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK AND I WILL CAPS LOCK ABOUT IT ALL DAMN DAY IF I HAVE TO”.

Rand takes his leave to the Foregate, and while wandering around he hears a voice emanating from a tavern that sounds familiar. He enters and is beside himself to see Thom “Gleeman Jones Smith-Jones” Merrilin regaling the clientele with gleeman tales like “The Stinking Thorns of Caladan” and “The Birds and the Bees”. Thom is also beside himself to see Rand.

They talk over eggnog. Thom didn’t die, as it turns out, because the Fade didn’t actually give two shits about Thom. It was after Rand and Mat. Oh well, we can laugh about it now! Anyway, meet the Wheel of Time’s favorite child molester at the inn he’s staying at — The Bunch of Grapes — and he’ll get all touchy-feely with you later.


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Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18 – “Venom (Part 3)”

* Part 3 of 5 of the Venom storyline *

Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18 – “Venom (Part 3)”! In the previous installment, Bruce Wayne is all hopped up on pills like Aaron Sorkin writing fourteen episodes of The West Wing in one evening. His dealer, Dr. Randolph Porter, is keeping him hooked as an experiment. One day, the streets will be positively littered with coked-up strong-ass Batman clones who will rid the world of, like, homeless people and skateboarders.

Problem is, that pesky Captain Jim Gordon is starting to meddle. So kill his ass for us, Batman. Can you do that for us?

And Batman is like “ok”.

Let’s go see Batman kill Jim Gordon. Makes me wish it was Congressman Jim Jordan, but we can’t have everything.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18 [May, 1991]
Written by: Dennis O’Neil
“Venom (Part 3)”

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

Bruce Wayne lookin’ like Grizzly Adams, pills falling all over the floor, Batsuit smelling like feces and failure. And pee. Let’s see this guy spiral downward even further!

“No sweat. I’ll kill him. I’ll bring you his head on a platter with an apple in his mouth.”

Could these be his words? Could he mean them?

Batman’s going to take care of this before the morning sun. Before anyone can say “boo” like a scary nighttime ghost! Boo! Heh heh! Booooo.

So now that we’ve all agreed to murder a police officer, let’s have those tasty, tasty pills! “I don’t have any ready,” Dr. Randolph Hitler tells him. “Perhaps when you’re done with Gordon–”

General Mustache Face wants to make it clear to the Batmurderer that he’s not going to commit murder here! Oh no no no, this is “justifiable homicide”. We can’t afford to have weak-ass men in his position. The city is going to Helena Handbasket, and she’s a real bitch. Can’t have that. Plus, he’s getting in the way of progress and whatnot. Stab him in the face with an icepick or something. Choke his ass with your utility belt. Do something useful for once in you damn life, idiot.

Batman frowns and leaves. It’s about 4am, perfect time to murder people in their sleep Phil Hartman-style. Except that Gordon guy is walking his dog right now. He puffs his pipe arrogantly like the arrogant jerk that he is! He deserves to die!

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

D’oh! Not today, please! D’oh! D’oh d’oh d’oh!

Batman leaps from the trees conspicuously, to say the the least. And the most. “I’ve come to kill you… I mean… I’ve been sent to kill you, and when I don’t, they’ll send someone else.”

Gordon frowns, inconvenienced. “What the devil are you talking about?” Heh. What the devil. Jim Gordon is British today.

It’s Randolph Porter and the other guy. The man! He’s… he wears a hat… General Slaycroft! They want to kill you for reasons. Gordon grabs Batman’s shoulders gently and asks if he’s all right. Batman is all like “whhhhrrrrrr”. Then he grabs Gordon’s coat and tells him to kill these two in the morning if Batman doesn’t first! Rawr!

Later, in Slaycroft’s crappy colonial house, you’ve got Porter stuffing papers into a crappy briefcase while Slaycroft’s crappy son sits despondent in an armchair. These guys are in hot water! Gordon knows that the men that were killed and shot and killed served under Slaycroft. He will have likely told other people. It’s only a matter of time now before he figures out that Slaycroft’s favorite ice cream is Cherry Garcia, then it’s all over. Their only hope now is to have Batman’s addled ass squash that fucker.

Speaking of Batman killing Gordon, the devil himself has arrived at Slaycroft’s house to not kill Gordon at all! “You’re going nowhere. Except to police headquarters, where you will make a full confession to Captain James Gordon or District Attorney Harvey Dent.”

WHOA WHOA WHOOAHAO. Slow your roll bro, that’s a lot of names to remember! Hold it, no one’s going to the police HQ? That’s ninny nonsense, sir. Here’s what will happen instead: Slaycroft and his posse will leave, and–

WAP SMACK CHOONT FLUNTZ!! Batman knocks Slaycroft’s dick in the dirt and then throws Porter over a car, where he lands hella on the pavement. Miraculously not dead! He gets crabbed by the collar and lifted up. “YOU ARE GOING DOWNTOWN!” Batman screams in Porter’s fucking face.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

THAT JEFF DUNHAM IS HILARIOUS! I CAN’T GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD!

Porter is like “uhhh nooooo I’ve got pills, idiot” and then he waves a bag in Batman’s face. Then throws the bag to the side, where Batman all but leaps after them. While Batman is distracted by horrible, uncool drugs, the three start moving out. There’s a plane to catch… although Porter dropped all his documents from his briefcase on the ground, but there’s no time to collect them anyway! Batman can’t even see paper while he’s munching on pills, it’ll be ok. They’ll be there on the ground when they get back!

Batman is overjoyed when he finds the pills, but then realizes right away that pills aren’t the answer! He dumps the pills and maintains a steady stream of good ol’ self-loathing…

So who better to talk to about boosting self-esteem than snarky-ass Alfred?? Batman calls him up in his run-down Gotham City high rise apartment. Now this is funny: Batman, still in full uniform, looks like dogshit in a phone booth. He stammers like a smelly junkie! “Need your help. Need your help. Know you’re mad at me. But got no one else. Want you to lock me in the Cave. Don’t let me out for a month. No matter what.”

No food or water, sir. Loud and clear. Feces dropping everywhere. Sounds like a plan. “Meet me at the mansion in half hour,” he cries, continuing to forget key words in his sentences. “Please.”

Now Alfred looks positively feverish with worry! “I shall be there.” No contractions for Alfred! Speaks like a professional, unlike that dumbass Batman.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

I’ll rip up your butler diploma so fast it’ll make your head spin.

Into the cave he goes. All the other exits have been bricked off. He’s got enough cans of beans to survive a whole winter, let alone a puny month. Alfred suggests a doctor or, you know, a less insane plan. Bruce just scowls at him. Doctors are idiots. Fingers up the butt? Sounds like a sexual predator to me! Sighing, Alfred closes up the Cave and starts raiding Bruce’s fridge.

Slaycroft’s son – I don’t know his name, so I’m just gonna call him Chet Beefcake – asks where their plane is headed. Slaycroft angrily tells him to zip the lip. Well, if you must know Chet Beefcake, they’re going to Santa Prisca to lay low for a couple of years! I hope you brought your yo-yo. Then, after half a decade, they’ll return to Gotham to finish their business! Airtight long game, here.

At Police HQ, an officer reports to Gordon that Porter’s house is clean of any evidence or Bad Guy Clues. Gordon instructs him to check the airlines. Maybe they went to Santa Prisca to lay low for a couple of years! Meanwhile, I want to see Bruce go nuts in a hole in the ground, but I don’t get to see that yet. That sounds infinitely more interesting.

The three villains make themselves at home in some Santa Prisca cabana. Chet Beefcake hits on a local pretty girl by telling her EVERYTHING about Dr. Porter and his pops. Chet’s name is Timothy. I don’t like that name. The girl is Consuela. That’s more like it.

She basically slobbers his bone before he walks away.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

♬♫♪ It’s been one week since you looked at me / Cocked your head to the side and said, “I’m angry”. ♬♫♪ ♬♫♪

Alfred, meanwhile, grows concerned that his master is being an idiot in a cave. It has been 10 days and counting. Alfred listens through the intercom system and hears nothing but jerking off and grunting. He does not say a word. He leaves his master to his important detox ritual. Then checks back again. Every six minutes or so. Maybe this guy cares about Bruce Wayne for reasons that are not obvious to me whatsoever.

In Santa Prisca, Timothy can’t even lift 100 pounds! So Porter is going to inject him with pill juice. The kid continues to flirt with Consuela and bond over their dead mothers! Then they kiss. Porter and Slaycroft are able to see this very public display of affection, and Slaycroft is relieved. This part is actually in the comic: “About time. I was beginning to think the whelp was a… you know. Sissy.”

Slaycrofts hopes that she doesn’t give him a sexually transmitted infection! These latinas a filthy creatures! Porter thinks Consuela might be useful…

Milestone! Twenty days in the hole. That’s an Xbox achievement.

Timothy is able to lift 150 pounds now! Atta boy! Surgery will be next, that’ll be fun. They’re going to stick a second appendix in him, one that’s made of drugs! I hope. Porter and Slaycroft talk openly in front of Timothy like he’s a lab rat. The kid walks away sad.

“Will he survive?”

“Does it matter?”

Alfred finally says something into the intercom. “It’s been more than three weeks…”

“I said a month.” And that’s that!

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

My dick-sucking robot is finally working! I removed the teeth! That was a really dumb idea in the first place, huh?

Timothy isn’t able to hold Consuela softly anymore. He looks monkey-browed and stupider than usual. Then he has a great idea to try hurting her for no reason! Then he gets called over by Porter to pull him away. Consuela doesn’t want to see Timothy anymore, but Porter promises that he will see her again…

Thirty days in the brig. Alfred is like “come out dear” and Bruce is like “NO, RAAAGGGHH, TOMORROW!” and that’s that!

Alfred wears pinstripe pants. This is important to point out.

Timothy is wrapped up like a mummy. “The moment has come for the grand unveiling. Are you ready, Timothy?” And, yes, Timothy was fucking born be ready, son!

The unveiling reveals Timothy. It’s just Timothy. Timothy covered in stitches and surgical scars. General Slaycroft raises a gun and shoots the shit out of his kid’s chest, but the bullets bounce right off of him. Like Superman, and just as intelligent! Timothy “Chet Beefcake” Slaycroft didn’t even feel any dang pain. The experiment is a success! Now there’s–

OK, hold on, Porter just jammed some scissors into the kid’s arm. Fine. I guess more tests are necessary here. “The alterations to your nervous system make pain an impossibility,” Porter says fiendishly.

Back to Alfred, who has been spending many minutes watching the grandfather clock like some kid on Christmas, waiting for his master’s insane month of solitude wind down. When it is time, he opens the door to the Batcave where a feral, shadowed dingus begins ascending the staircase. His pants are all ripped up and he needs a shave. Hair and beards don’t grow that much in a month, so Brucey must’ve taken a swim in some Minoxidil.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #18

Nice mountain man look there, Grizzly Adams. Totally “badass”.

Alfred offers to help, but Bruce looks like he’s about to break down crying and insists he’s all right. No matter, the bald butler is just thrilled to see him again! He suggests an evening of television! Or, perhaps some steak and potatoes with–

No, certainly not. Bruce is going to go out and be Batman immediately, probably. He’s going to take a long shower and do some tender jerkin’ first, though. Maybe see the sun, I guess. If I were in a cave for a month I’d probably be ok not seeing the sun for a little while longer.

But enough about me, let’s get back to Santa Prisca where Timothy is manhandling the lovely Consuela. General Slaycroft orders the lad to kill her, which seems unnecessarily mean and weird. Timothy lifts her up by the neck and slams her head against the wall, cracking her head open. Seems unnecessarily mean and weird.

“What do you think, General?” Porter smiles.

“Well done. If we can make that weakling a man, we can do it to anyone.” General Slaycroft is a mean dude. I hope he gets his comeuppance, boy howdy.

The issue ends with Bruce donning his Batman garb. He’s going to go after Porter and Slaycroft since they’re just the woooooorrrrsssst. End scene.

Final Thoughts

These early ‘90s Batman comics are pretty grim. If this was an issue of the New 52, Batman would be frolicking in the meadow while giraffes blow rainbows up his tight little butthole.


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