Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a narrator who took it upon herself to screw up every story she could get her hands on. With complete and utter disregard for the opinions of others, authors and fans alike, she made it her mission to corrupt any good plot line or character development she had the means to. With the help of her tech-savvy computer and her skills of destroying anything she put her mind to, she quickly set to work on annoying the crap out of everybody. These are her stories.
The dishes had been piling up for some time now, ever since Alfred had tragically went on a cruise and enjoyed it so much that he got a job in the theatre department of the ship. Bruce, who had not moved a finger since a month ago when Alfred's 2-week notice came in the mail (except perhaps to pick his nose), lay dejectedly in his emperor size, Egyptian cotton, eight-post canopy bed, reminiscing over all the criminals he had killed in his time as Batman. He shuddered at the thought of how the producers would ruin the series with the introduction of Robin as the new Batman. As it were, he now lived with his woman, Catwoman, who shared her name with that of his favorite author's wife. Catwoman, however, was not home, nor had she been home this entire month. She fortunately had a job, which she could get away with since she wasn't presumed to be dead by all of Gotham City.
"That's not a very good excuse," the narrator realized, "You live in a completely different country now. Why would you have to lay low when you're only recognizable by America and the UK?"
"Father? Is that you?" Batman moaned weakly, using his mind powers to throw his empty beer bottle at the ceiling.
"Now this is absurd," Alfred declared, surprising everyone by entering the room from the shadows. "You can't give him mind powers. This whole storyline is based on the fact that heroes don't need superpowers."
"Just outrageous amounts of money and willing conspirators," the narrator replied, rolling her eyes, "That's so unbelievable. People don't have that much money in real life, and if they did, they wouldn't waste it on the lives of peasants. They would obviously use it to fund virtual reality programs centered around a children's card game."
"Amen," Seto Kaiba agreed, fleeing the story before the narrator could delete him again.
"Your stupidity aside," Alfred continued, clearing his throat and turning back to Batman, "Mr. Wayne, you can't throw your life away for the simple act of dying. When your father died, you didn't give up. You got stronger, made a vow to protect other boys from losing their parents. Now, what are you going to do this time?"
"I'm going to hit on Debra like a boss, get rejected like a boss, cry deeply like a boss – "
Alfred smashed a plate against the wall, jarring Bruce out of his derpression. "I'm calling your wife," he threatened.
"No, please! For the love of sod, don't tell Kitty about this. She'll force me to get a job, plus withhold sex from me for a year. I can change, Alfred, I swear I can."
Alfred pointed a motherly inclined finger at the man. "If you haven't cleaned up your act by the next movie, I won't be so merciful with you. Now take a shower – I can smell you from outside."
"Me too," the narrator exclaimed, waving her hand over her nose.
As Alfred was leaving out the door, a black figure smashed through the bedroom window and crouched on the carpet. Alfred, however, did not hear because he had bumped his hearing-aid, turning it off. The feral creature jumped to her feet, stretched with languish, and mauled the man in bed, licking his entire face with a rough, pink tongue.
"Alright, alright!" Bruce protested, "I'll take a shower. Get off me, woman." He pushed her roughly to the floor, where she scrambled under the bed, hissing angrily.
And now for a word from our sponsors.
The End