A/N: This is full-on parody, so don't be looking for a plot or anything like that because you'll be disappointed. Let me know, however, if it makes you laugh at all, since that's my goal. Also know that this is a one-shot.
The Black Knight Always Triumphs
It had been a horrifically dull day in which little action had occurred, and no killing whatsoever. Automatically, I marked it down in my little black book as a dreadful miscarriage of justice. A day in which no evil dies is a day in which I might as well have spent all daylight hours in bed, instead of just half of them as was my custom. I have to, you see— not only because I spend so much time recuperating from my wounds, but also because hangovers are so hard to get over.
Its really unfair, actually. I mean, not only do I have to cope with beating the crap out of every bad guy and petty criminal that comes my way, but in playing and portraying the part of playboy (and confusing myself with all the words that start with p) I am forced to contend with hangovers and the like. Life is not fair in the least.
Excuse me while I take out this man who is rushing at me with a knife.
A few overblown sound effects later, I find myself once again reminiscing and, as is my wont, angsting about my day.
This is what happened.
I got up at eleven am and took a glance at myself in the mirror to make sure all the essentials were there. Handsome face: check. Listless hair that never moves: check. Well-oiled muscles: check. After my exercises (a special routine which Alfred outlined for me, it includes lifting anvils over my head, and butt-clenching) I ate the special meal which Alfred, my loyal retainer who just showed up in parentheses, prepared for me. Notwithstanding the fact that he had laced it with rat poison, I went on to read the paper and outline my day. Having read the paper and asked Alfred to explain some of the longer words, I discovered that a veritable windstorm of creepy and/or lame villains had attacked the city all at once. I instantly decided that they must be working together and, having ruled out some form of evil telepathy, divined that one of them must have created some sort of invention of a novelty gadget creation invention device of his, which enabled them to communicate instantaneously. Either that, or they were text-messaging. I don't know. I liked the idea of a new invention better, and went so far as to name it: the Acme Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device. I told Alfred as much.
"Alfred," I said.
"Actually, sir," he said with infinite patience, "its Andrew."
"Alfred," I said, notwithstanding, "you will have your little joke."
"It isn't a joke," he said, "you've had it wrong for years."
"Shut up and listen, Alfred. There's only one thing and one thing only that these dastardly villains can be using. A Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device."
"Oh yes, sir?" said Alfred, raising his eyebrows slightly. "And what is it that this Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device is being used for?"
"The Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device," I said, not pausing to draw breath, passing out for a second as a result, then reviving after a moment and carrying on like a trooper, " is being used, obviously, to communicate. Nontelepathically. Instantly. Evilly."
"Could it not be a possibility," said Alfred gravely, "that they are using that invention, the A.G. Bell Built-In Speaker and Aural Receiver Communicator?"
I frowned. "I haven't heard of that, Alfred."
"Andrew, sir."
"What is this device of which you speak?"
"The phone, sir," said Alfred with that dry voice that he always uses when he thinks I'm being exceptionally dim just to annoy him. I don't do it to annoy him. I really am that stupid.
"Oh yes," I said. "No, can't be that. They're too clever for that. They must be using the Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device, it's the only possibility."
"And where precisely did they obtain this Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device?"
"Perhaps one of them built it."
"How does one build a Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device?"
"I don't know, I've never built a Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device. I've never even seen one, actually."
"Then how does sir know for certain that a Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device even exists?"
I frowned. "You've got me there, Alfred."
"Andrew, sir. Did sir enjoy his rat poison?" Poor Alfred doesn't even bother anymore to hide the fact that he's trying to kill me. Anyway, it was that conversation that made me decide that Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device was just a silly thing to call anything, and I shortened it to "The Thingie."
Not long afterwards, I met my female love interest. She caught my attention by kicking me in the crotch and trying to make off with my wallet. Luckily, due to painful experience I make it a point to keep bricks down there, so she only succeeded in hurting her foot and falling over backwards. I helped her up like the gentleman I strive to be and we tried to have some electric tension. We didn't do very well, but we were each sexy on our own, so that's okay.
"Insert witty opening line here," she said.
"Fill in snarky comeback," I countered.
"Flirty banter."
"Understated sexual euphemism," I agreed, and the battle of the sexes was joined.
"What's your name?"
"Bruce Wayne," I told her. "I'm not Batman or anything."
"Bruce Wayne is a dumb name."
"I know, that's why I killed my parents."
She regarded me for a second. "You're not a superhero, are you? Because I don't date superheroes. They're always late, they come home reeking of testosterone, and they enjoy bondage just a little too much for my taste."
"Yes," I said. "I mean, no. I mean, possibly. Of course not. Do I look like a superhero to you?"
"Well, your muscles are bulging out of your shirt and you have a tattoo of a bat on your arm."
"That's not a bat," I said, "it's a— cricket."
"A cricket with wings?"
"Yes, a cricket with wings. Listen, do you want to go out to dinner with me tonight?"
"Don't you even want to know my name?"
"Not a lot of point, is there, since I'll just find another girlfriend by the next movie—"
She stared at me. "I don't think so," she said finally. "I mean, you're dumb, and I like that. But it would just be too easy if I gave in now." So saying, she turned on her heel and walked away. I picked up the purse she'd dropped, did a meaningful look at the camera, and stalked away.
Some boring plot exposition followed, whilst I had a nice bath with a rubber duckie.
Following that, Alfred tried to help me get dressed in my batsuit but I fended him off. I made my way to the usual hangout and waited around for some criminals to come running past me on the rooftops. It didn't take long. I don't know what it is with crooks and roofs. Something just draws the one to the other. Maybe the fact that they both have double e's in them. At any rate, I tripped him up, and within veritable seconds he was staring in horror at me. I must admit, I am quite the impressive figure.
"Hey mister," he said, "you know something?"
"What?" I said without moving any of the muscles in my face.
"Your nipples are showing."
"It's the suit."
"What, like defects in the design or something?"
"No, but it's the suit."
"Uh-huh." The crook sounded doubtful.
"It really is."
He still looked doubtful, so I tossed him over the edge and went and sulked in a bar.
A few hours later I was tossed out of the bar by the irritated owner, and found myself, oddly enough, in the precise alley in which I'd killed my parents. Despite the fact that I knew exactly what had happened to them, I had some shaky flashbacks to the event.
"Hmm," I thought, mid-flashback, "was I really that chubby as a twelve-year-old?"
I suppose it didn't really matter, for, this being a dark alleyway, all the villains in the film descended on me at once. I managed to fight most of them off, and they ran off down the street yelling about getting their own series, and were shortly accosted by their fangirls.
I was left do deal with the most frightening villain of them all.
He wore blue and red, had giant white eyes, and sprayed me with some sticky stuff. I blinked at him.
"Is that all you do?"
"Is that not enough?" came the voice, muffled behind the mask. He sounded kind of young.
"Its pretty lame," I said. "That's just my opinion, of course, but— well, that's my opinion. That's all."
"Who cares about your opinion? You're the bad guy here, no one wants to listen to you."
I blinked. I think it was audible. "What?"
"I said—"
"I know what you said, although that mask does kind of muffle your voice, just a heads up. I know what you said, I just didn't understand it, exactly."
"What's not to understand? You're the bad guy. What, you didn't know that?"
"No, I'm not! You are!"
"I am not!"
"You are too! I'm Batman, I'm the hero of Gotham City!"
"I'm Spiderman, and I fight crime via webs and swinging around a lot."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"I could beat you any day. Swinging around a lot, my foot. I can fly, you know."
"Who cares?" he countered, and I could tell he was getting irritated. "What kind of super hero is a bat, anyway? That's totally lame."
"I'm sorry, this from a spider boy? You want to talk about lame, look in the mirror first."
"Spiders trump bats, mister. Especially bats with nipples."
"It's the suit!" I roared, but he just shook his head and webbed my mouth shut.
"The police will be along to find you any minute," he said. "I alerted them with the Nu-Age Instamatic Communication Technicron Nontelepathic Evilistic Device that I stole from Scarecrow. We work together now, you know. We've got bookings all over the place. Hot properties, we two. Excuse me a minute, I've got a date with your girlfriend."
So saying, he wandered off into the night. Probably ended up getting kissed upside down, or something.
Now that I think of it, maybe what made today so regrettable is the fact that I now sit in a cell, conversing with some of the slower, less-fortunate criminals of Gotham. Maybe the fact that I'm still webbed so tight I can't move. Maybe the fact that Alfred came to point and laugh at me for a while. Maybe the fact that the writer of the script had gotten bored by this point and ran off with Topher Grace.
Come to think of it, my bat senses were tingling from the moment I woke up this morning.
Yes, undoubtedly, it all went downhill from there.