Warning: References to mutilation and slight, slight slash, if you squint.

Red Rover

I had a dog once.

When I was...oh...let's say nine. He was a good one, with an ugly mug and mangy hair and black gums. He bit people, he snapped at them whether they got near him...or not. I named him Rover.

You know that rhyme, Batty...red rover...red cover...howsit go, Brucey? Red cover...come on over...?

Rover was a good, vicious little thing...did daddy proud, that Rover. I even...relieved him of...that certain part...you know what I'm talking about, Batty.

Aw, why you screaming, huh? 'S not like you needed it, didja, Bruce? Not like you had anybody to use it on...no, not since...poor, poor Rachel...passed. No, now your...all alone.

So what do you need this for, anyhow?

So, anyway--hey, I'm talking. Didn't mommy teach you to hold...your...tongue when someone's talkin' to you?

Ah, still screaming. Ah---shut it.

My dog---he was a good dog, that Rover---hey, Batty, you ever, uh, have a dog? Well?

What? Cat got your tongue?

HahA I got your tongue, don't I, Bruce?

So, my dog...Rover...he was a good dog...Good ol' dad, see, said he could stay...long as he didn't...chew on the furniture.

And guess what the fuck Rover did, Batty?

So, Daddy, he get's real mad. He, uh, he get's real mad.

He slaps me around...for a while...then he, uh, he gives me this knife.

It was a nice knife, Bruce. Just like...this one...with a wooden handle...with old pig blood engraved in the wood...

Daddy was a butcher, see?

So, Daddy gives me this...real nice knife...and he tells me..."Son, you gotta...take care of buisness..." So you know what I do then, Batty?

I take care of buisness.

I started with his ears...like this.

And then his nose...ha...like this.

His lips...and then his...eyes.

Alright, Brucey. I'll give let that one slide...that one must've hurt.

So, as I was sayin'...

You crying', Batty? The big, bad Batman...crying?

Oh, what a sight, what a sight. A thing to behold, indeed.

The thing I liked about Rover, though?

He didn't cry.

He couldn't.

He was just...a dirty old dog...and he lived...in this little world of his...not knowing...not...knowing anything. All they knew was when to eat, when to drink...

And when to attack.

The world should be run by dogs, I think, Batty.

Because...the world would be plunged into blind...naked...nonsensical...chaos.

As I was saying...