Author's Note: This is a work of parody. The characters in this story are wildly out of character in many cases because their more ridiculous aspects are exaggerated for the sake of humor. This is perhaps my first attempt at a 'crack fic', but I assure you there is a method to the madness. I'll tell you when I figure out what that method is.

Thanksgiving

Jeremy Saxon had never really cared much for driving. It was frightening to him—being behind the wheel of two tons of screaming metal. Especially here in America, where everyone drove on the wrong bloody side of the road.

For this reason, he walked everywhere he went. His office wasn't far from his home, and it gave him his exercise. His wife had a car, and that would do for emergencies. So he walked. Everyday, Jeremy walked through North Park Cemetery, one of many on the north side of Metropolis. The corpses didn't mind. They were, well, corpses after all. There were a lot of them there that hadn't been dead that long, too. After that horrible Crisis a couple years ago? And all those supervillains gathering in Metropolis to bring down Superman's city?

Thousands had been left dead. Jeremy meant them no disrespect—he just didn't think they'd care.

There was one grave he passed every day that had always been a bit curious simply because there was absolutely no indication as to whose grave it was. And on this slightly overcast, chilly November afternoon, he passed the grave as usual. And as usual, wondered whose body lay underneath.

"Poor bloke," he thought aloud. "Probably so mangled nobody could identify his remains."

Jeremy blinked, as something imperceptible changed. It took him a moment to register, but he gradually put words to the thought. The ground was shaking, a faint, faint rumble that was gradually building. And it was coming right below his feet!

Jeremy took a step back from the unmarked grave, staring at it perplexed.

And then came the purple glow. "Bligh me!" said Jeremy. It was as if the ground was leaking a radioactive gas.

Then a loud crack, muffled by the earth, reached his ears and a golden-clad hand burst forth from the grave, surrounded in purple energy.

Jeremy's pulse quickened, his heart thumping in his chest. "I'm going to die! This thing is going to kill me!" he cried. He took a step back and stumbled over another headstone, falling on his rear. He continued backwards on his butt, inching away from the resurrected hand, the fear in his gut growing…

Until suddenly the glow vanished. The hand started flailing wildly, feeling the ground around the grave..

"Huh?" Jeremy crawled forward, cautiously at first. Then the screams reached his ears. Muffled cries of fear from within the grave. "Good lord, the bloke is trapped in there!"

"MMMGPHHH! MOOGHROHH ROMMGHGH!!" cried the grave's no-longer-dead occupant. "Mpmmghrgh!!"

Jeremy reached out instinctively, clasping the golden-clad handed and pulling with all his might.

Immediately light filled his vision and Jeremy's body recoiled as if he'd been shocked, He was sent sailing backwards and smashed into a large headstone, mashing the flowerpots next to it. His vision went distorted and dim. He looked up to the grave and saw that the fist was once again glowing.

And then the earth exploded upward, the wooden coffin shattering as fragments of wood and clumps of dirt rained down everywhere. The golden-clad figure within emerged, purple energy crackling like lightning across his body, and then moved—no, he flew—over to the edge of the hole.

The man in gold lifted his arms, and Jeremy knew the end was about to come. He was about to die.

POP

CRACK

Jeremy watched, flabbergasted as the man moved his arms and legs in strange and unwieldy ways. About to cast some horrible spell, no doubt. One minute he'd be there, and the next, he'd be gone. Avada Kedavra! Poof. Just like that.

He glanced up, slipping an eyelid open just enough to see what was happening.

The man kept moving, his bones popping and cracking as he contorted.

He popped his neck, then sighed.

"Ah, there we go. I feel one hundred percent better now."

Then Jeremy realized—he wasn't attacking. He was stretching.

And lo, Jeremy felt incredibly dumb.

"You there," said the man in gold. "Are you the one who grabbed my hand?"

"Um.. Yeah.." Jeremy answered. "I hope you don't mind, mate. I was trying to rescue you. You're not gonna kill me, are you?"

"Kill you?" the man blinked. "Why on New Earth would I do that? In fact, since you saved me from an embarrassing death, I suppose I should reward you."

"Do you have a name, mate?"

"Yes," he responded. "You may call me Alexander Luthor. Or just Alex for short, if you wish."

"Well, Alex. Nice meeting you, but I really need to get going." Jeremy turned—and suddenly Alex was in front of him, blocking his exit.

"Nonsense, my friend. Not until you have your reward." Alex hovered through the air between two gravestones. Then he reached up to his collar and began pulling the golden fabric off his body.

Jerry jerked his head away and closed his eyes. The guy's a bloody poof! "OH, NO, WAY! Sorry, mate, I don't swing that way!"

"What?!" Luthor bellowed. "You insolent wretch, I'm not soliciting you!" He hovered down and landed. "Though I suppose I shouldn't blame you. It's the corruption of this universe that makes you think that way."

"Whuaughg?" Jeremy couldn't find the words. So he made them up. "Uugghueuigh."

"My body acts as a portal to any alternate reality you can imagine," Alex explained. "I was going to invite you into a world where you'd have a thousand virgins to cater to your every whim. I do believe this is the dimension on which Mohammed based the Islamic conception of heaven."

"You're nuts, mate. Loco. Mad. Insane!" Jeremy stormed off, throwing his hat down for no particular reason. "I've had enough!"

"Wait!" Luthor zipped his clothing back up. "Is there some other dimension I could send you to?"

"I've got a wife and kids, mate. I can't go gallivanting off to another reality." Jeremy stomped further away.

"Well, is there anything at all you do want?"

Jeremy stopped, and turned around, scratching his head. "Uh, well, after today, I could really use a drink. I don't suppose you got any beer."

Luthor shrugged. "Well, no." He reached into one of his golden uniform's pockets and pulled out a small bill. "Will five dollars cut it?"

Jeremy reached out and took the money, staring at it for a moment. "Gee. Thanks, mate."

"No problem," Luthor said. "Once I'm done creating the perfect Earth, money will be obsolete anyway."

Alexander Luthor hovered into the sky, a golden energy surrounding him… Then a sonic boom echoed through the city and Luthor blasted off faster than Jeremy's eyes could track.

He looked down at the legal tender in his hand. Then he promptly turned and ran off to find the nearest bar, desiring nothing more than to get as wasted as he could possibly get on five dollars.

And the being known as Alexander Luthor sped off into the distance, grinning wildly. Why shouldn't he? His plan to ensure his resurrection had worked exactly as he had planned. Simply set the Alarm Clock Ex Machina for Thanksgiving 2007 and it works like a charm.

Now down to business. There was a lot to do before Christmas came. But Luthor was sure he would have enough time. And if those 'heroes', those morally corrupted murderers and mind-wipers, tried to stop them?

…Actually, he didn't really have any ideas on that one yet.

He'd figure something out.

Chaltab Presents

A DC Comics fan fiction

Borrowing a Pun DC was too Politically Correct to Publish

INFINITE CHRISTMAS

Part One: Season's Greetings

December 5th

A craggy white surface stretched out before the young man, a surface denser than steel that reeked of sweat and decay. The young man had a name: Timothy Drake. And he was Robin. Yeah, that Robin. Batman's sidekick, who had undergone years of physical and mental training to be prepared for anything. His sharp mind never faltered.

Slowly the boy removed his glove, and reached out and caressed the white craggy surface, and it was warm to the touch. Then it abruptly pulled away.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Joseph Wilson screamed at him with the vocal chords of a failed clone of Superboy known as Match.

"You're sooo much like Conner!" Robin said, stroking Match's temples, much to Joseph Wilson's horror. Joseph had once been a great hero, a Teen Titan known as Jericho. His ability was to possess the body of anyone with which he made eye contact. Of course, that sort of backfired on him when he was himself possessed by evil spirits and turned into a murderous psychopath. Then his own father Slade had skewered him with a sword—a favor Joey would later return, ain't irony great—and killed him.

He got better. I will not bore you with how this was accomplished. Trust me, it's pretty boring. Well, except the fact that Joey spent more than a year as a mini CD shut up in the library at Titans Tower. That's kind of funny.

Now that I think of it, 'pretty boring' is a good way to describe pretty much everything that's happened to the Titans since Infinite Crisis.

Anywho, Jericho was back. Unfortunately, no sooner had he returned, he was forced to take over the decaying body of Match, and sent off to live at STAR Labs until they figured out a way to control him. This branch of STAR has tragically never heard of Kryptonite.

"Stop gently caressing me!" Jericho cried, slapping Robin's hand away.

"But I miss Conner. You remind me of him."

"How do I remind you of Conner?" Jericho spat, turning around and crossing his arms over the mirror-reversed S-Shield on Match's black shirt. (Well, technically the shirt was probably provided by Slade, and given that Slade was evil, the shirt technically did belong to Jericho.) "I'm a decaying corpse."

"But you wear a black shirt with a red S on it," Robin replied, putting his glove back on. "That makes you Conner enough for me."

Nearby, the door to the lab where Jericho and Robin were staying slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and Wonder Girl—also known as Cassandra Sandsmark—hovered in to the room. She wore a pair of jeans with the knees cut out and a rather flimsy looking red shirt. The only thing identifying her as a hero was an ancient Wonder Woman logo a cross the chest. And, well, her ability to fly, obviously.

"Okay, Tim," she said happily. "I'm here to pine after Conner for a while. Time to go angst over your father, mother, girlfriend, Bart, or someone else close to you that died that I don't know about yet."

"But Conner's my favorite," Tim Drake sighed, patting Match on the back as he slipped out of the room.

"And now you're all mine!" Cassie cried, ripping off her shirt to reveal a tiny black tube-top with the Conner symbol on it underneath.

Jericho, for his part, tried to look away. Honest, he did. He did remind himself that she was still a minor, which helped.

"Oh, you're so much like Conner!" Wonder Girl squealed.

Robin rushed out of the STAR facility—which had oddly lax security given all the high-tech and potentially lethal gadgets therein—and ran off towards the R-Cycle. As he sat down, his cell phone buzzed. He glanced at it to see that the caller was his girlfriend, Zoanne.

"Yo!" he answered. "Tim here. What's up?"

"Tim, it's me, Zo. You did remember we had a big date for tonight, right?"

"Of course I did," Tim lied with a big smile. "You're the only one for me." Other than Wonder Girl and Conner, of course.

"Great," Zoanne replied. "I'll expect you at six. Ciao."

"I'll be there," Tim said, hanging up the phone. He smirked as he revved up the R-Cycle. Perfect, he thought. The girl doesn't suspect a thing. She doesn't know that I, her boyfriend Tim Drake, am secretly Robin!

Zoanne clicked her cell phone shut.

"Perfect!" she thought aloud, opening her closet to reveal a purple-and-blue costume with a hooded cloak. "The fool has no idea, that I, Zoanne, Tim Drake's girlfriend, am secretly the Spoiler-doppelganger and super thief, Violet! Mwahahaha!"

And now we turn our attention far away, high in the heavens, beyond the Earth's atmosphere where the latest incarnation of the Justice League of America based their satellite Watchtower.

It exploded. Don't that beat all?

Green Lantern immediately grabbed everyone he could, wrapping them in green energy within the sixty seconds it would take between the exposure to the vacuum and their untimely demise. The green energy also protected them from the shrapnel and heat.

"Oh for the love of—" Black Lightning cried as he slammed into Green Lantern in the zero-gravity environment. "John, the Watchtower blew up! That's the third one we've gone through this month!"

"Don't worry," Green Lantern said. "We've been through this before, Jeff." This particular Green Lantern was John Stewart, a black architect widely known for 'letting it all hang out' (his own terminology.) He was back-up Lantern to Hal Jordan, Hal being away fighting in a war involving a pink-skinned Space Hitler, a Cyborg duplicate of Superman named Hank, a whiny brat from our world, and a gargantuan entity that had destroyed many a universe. Odds at the League were ten to one that Hal would kick their collective butt.

"Batman's still made of money," Wonder Woman said, joining them. "He'll fix the station and have it back to normal by Christmas."

Flash and Vixen—the latter being a super model with a magic totem that let her use the abilities of animals—appeared next to them within the Green Lantern's bubble of green energy. "Man, I just got my X-Box repaired," Wally West complained. He zipped around to Black Lightning's side at super speed. "I brought it up here because Jai keeps crushing the controllers with his random bouts of Super Strength."

(The Flash was referring to his son, who was a year old. Except, he was also four years old. And yet, he was also ten years old. It's complicated.)

Black Lightning looked around. "Wait a minute!" he gasped. "Where's Bruce? Did you get him?"

"I'm fine. I'm over here," Everyone turned their heads to see Batman, alive and well… and floating outside the Green energy bubble. He just seemed to be hovering in one place, glaring out at them through his cowl. He reached up and scratches his grimacing jaw, making the stubble on his chin move. "Aren't you going to let me in?" Batman asked.

"Oh, right," John said, expanded the energy field and Batman walked over to the other gathered JLAers. "Sorry."

"Bruce! How on earth did you survive!?" Vixen asked.

The Dark Knight just glared at her. "I'm Batman," he said. "I can breath in space."

He received only blank looks. "No, seriously," Vixen repeated. "How did you do that?"

Batman grimaced even harder. "I'm Batman."

Flash shrugged. "That's good enough for me."

"Could you two knock it off?" demanded Black Lightning. "Since when have the laws of physics ever applied to our lives? We need to stop bickering and figure out who blew up the Watchtower this time."

"I'm already on it," Batman said, removing a small visual-communication device. "Any news?"

A voice came from the communicator, and to the other heroes' surprise it was Batman's own. "Nothing yet, Bruce."

"Stay on it, Bruce," said Batman. "Send in the Outsiders if you have to."

"They're already investigating now," said the voice on the other end of the communicator. "I'll keep you posted, Bruce."

"Good luck, Bruce." Batman clicked the communicator off.

Wally blinked. "Okay, I'm the Fastest Man Alive, and even I can't do THAT."

Batman just glowered. "I'm Batman."

Down on the planet, in Keystone City, Kansas, Batman sat in a mobile command center designed to look like a massive jar of urine on wheels. Originally it had just been a nondescript white truck, but that had gotten pulled over by the police for inciting fear of a terrorist attack. The jar of urine was art, of course, which meant that no cop would dare touch it or risk being accused of persecuting free speech.

A voice crackled over his communicator. "Are you sure about this, Bats?" The voice belonged to Rex Mason, also known as Metamorpho. Look him up on Wikipedia. "I know there's something fishy going on up here, but how could it have anything to do with the Watchtower getting wasted again?"

"I'm certain," Batman said. "I've traced the signal that set off the bomb here via triangulation, and Batman double checked the results to be certain."

"You mean Batwoman?" Rex asked.

"No. The other Batman. He's currently in Tibet right now with Talia al Ghul trying to stop Ra's al Ghul from getting his body back." Batman saw a flashing light on the side of his screen and tapped the button. Two more screens flickered to life, one with a red-haired Asian woman and the other with a yellow-bearded man who looked to be about fifty. He was clad in a green outfit like Robin Hood and wearing a green domino mask.

"Grace, Green Arrow," Batman said. "Are your teams ready?"

"You bet your expletive they are!" Grace said. "Random expletive!" she reiterated.

"I'm ready too," Green Arrow said. "Let's take down these Capitalist pigs in the name of the great socialist revolution…. I mean let's beat up the bad guys."

"Expletive yeah!" Grace said.

"Go, now!" Batman shouted to all three teams. Another light on the console began flashing. "I've got another call, Batman said. Radio blackout time."

The screen flickered to life to reveal Batman, clad in some sort of blue-Arabian style scale mail, with the beautiful figure of Talia al Ghul standing behind him with her hands on the shoulders of her and Batman's demonic son, Damian.

"Ra's al Ghul isn't responsible for the destruction of the Watchtower," said Batman in Tibet. "But he is back from the dead."

"I know," Batman said. "From what I've learned, the culprit was likely Red Herring, founder of Herring Corporation. Conveniently, he is also one of Wayne Enterprises biggest competitors."

"Good thinking, Bruce," said the Tibetan Batman.

"Why thank you, Bruce," said the Batman in the jar of urine in Kansas. "Anything else?"

"Bruce… It's Robin." The Batman in Tibet looked down, worried.

"He didn't turn evil, did he?"

"Yes. He got over it. But he abandoned the fight in the middle of considering turning evil, and ran off to New York to see Match again. I think he's growing worse. We need to do something, Bruce."

"I know, Bruce." Batman in Kansas sighed. "Where is he now?"

"Somewhere in Gotham," Batman in Tibet replied.

"I'll send Katherine to find him and make sure he's not turning inexplicably evil."

"Good. Batman out."

"Batman out."

Batman in Kansas killed the transmission and made another call. This time a voice answered, though nobody new appeared on screen. "Kate Kane here, who is this?"

"I'm Batman."

"Hah, funny. No seriously, who is this?"

"Bruce Wayne."

"Oi, vey. I'm not kidding. Who are you and how did you get this number?"

"Katherine, it's me. It's really Batman. I know that you're Batwoman. I know that you and Nightwing flirted the Christmas after you debuted, despite the fact that I also know you don't swing his way."

There was silence for a moment. "Mister Batman," she said at last. "What do you need?"

"Track down Robin for me. Make sure he's not turned evil."

"I'm kind of busy. I have a SOJL meeting until seven."

"SOJL?" Batman asked, surprised to find that there was an organization he wasn't familiar with.

"The Society of Jewish Lesbians," Kate responded. "We meet and talk about knish and bar mitzvahs and how women's bodies are so much more pleasant than those of men."

"That's enough, Kate," Batman said. "Go find Robin or I'll out you to the world. That's an order. Though you are right at least that women's bodies are far more pleasant than those of men… Not that I'd know from experience, or anything. Nope. Not an ounce."

A string of profanities was released over the other end of the phone line, and Batman clicked her off. Now back to the Outsiders. He figured they probably hadn't fared well without his guidance, but he knew he could trust them to at least stay alive for a few minutes.

Six coffins sat on the lawn in front of the gathered crowd of superheroes, all of the heroes dressed in black-themed versions of their own costumes. Mourners gathered around, as Jay Garrick, the original Flash, took the podium to deliver the Eulogy.

"We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of five great heroes, all members of the Outsiders: Green Arrow, Thunder, Grace, Metamorpho, and Katana. Much can be said about these heroes, and much as already been said. Green Arrow's life is proof that even an a middle-aged Communist in green tights still do a lot of good with just a bow, an arrow, and a hot wife with black belts in every form of martial arts known to man. Thunder and Grace… well, they were a cute couple. And they definitely saved some lives… occasionally. I really didn't know them too well, though. Metamorpho… Actually I don't really know much about him either. He seemed like a nice enough guy. And lastly, Katana. Who is he, exactly? I seem to remember him being on the old Outsiders before a while back, when Denny O'Neil was still at the top of his game."

"Katana is a woman," Wally West informed him.

"Oh, right," Jay said. He sighed deeply. "Sorry folks, the Speed Force has kept my body going well into my 90s, but my mind is still a bit rusty. Maybe I should buy one of those new fangled DS-Machines with Brain Age Training or whatever you call it."

Several cheers erupted from the children in attendance.

"I'd like to say a few words!" a voice shouted. The speaker walked up to the podium, and everyone identified him as Booster Gold, a hero from the future infamous for his profiteering. He made his debut by saving then-president Ronald Reagan's life from an assassination attempt ten years ago. Yes, I know Ronald Reagan wasn't president ten years ago. Just pretend.

"First of all," Booster said into the microphone, "I know that a lot of you are going to rush to blame Batman for this. And to a degree, it is his fault. He sent them in there, probably more out of a desire to hurt Herring Corporation than for actual justice. And I know some of you are going to want to run out and catch the guys who did this. Yeah, fat chance of that. Remember what happened to Ronnie Raymond when he went out looking for Sue Dibny's killer? Ha! That didn't go so well. Finally, some of you are going to want to blame Dan DiDio for this. And you'd be right. It's mostly his fault."

"But in all honesty, do we really need these guys? I mean, sure, Green Arrow fought the good fight in his day. But the man was pushing fifty. And if the stories about Speedy—I mean Red Arrow—are true, I'd say that's not all he was pushing." Booster beat his hands on the podium like the comedy drum beat.

Next to Booster, a hovering robotic night watchman known as Skeets chirped in. "Technically, he surpassed fifty in 2004. Though given his return from the dead, his physical age was actually closer to thirty."

"Right, buddy," Booster said, patting his robot on the back. "As I was saying, just remember, funerals aren't always a bad thing. Think of it as cleaning out your hard drive of all the old porn you never look at anymore. That's all." Skeets nudged him. "Oh, right, Drink Soder Cola!"

From nearby, The Flash took the microphone at super speed, pushing Booster out of the way. "Booster, that was outright shameful. I'd say you're just jealous nobody showed up at your funeral. Speaking of which, I think we all liked you better when you were dead."

"Amen," the gathered mourners chanted in unison.

"I hope you're happy," Booster spat, standing next to Rip Hunter, the golden-haired Time Master. "As if my reputation wasn't bad enough, now you're making me desecrate funerals. Why do I have to do this anymore anyway? So nobody knows that I'm a hero? Isn't it a bit late considering the bad guy is my father?"

"It's all apart of my master plan," Rip said, rubbing his hands together and reaching to twirl his mustache, only to find stubble. He pressed a button on the keys to his Time Sphere. It turned visible and beeped twice, indicating it was unlocked. "Now get in. We have to make sure Raven is conceived before it's too late."

"What happened, someone kill Arella?" Booster frowned.

"No, sir," Skeets said. "It is far worse than that. My records indicate that one of our enemies unleashed a virus in the Netherverse that ended up giving Trigon… some delicate problems."

Rip Hunter handed Booster a bottle of Viagra and a demon nudie magazine. Booster felt as though he would be ill.

As the funeral goers began to clear out, Tim Drake leaned against a tree, scratching his back through the itchy Robin funeral suit. "It's too bad about all this death lately. At least Geo-Force survived."

"So did Batgirl," Wonder Girl said.

"If you ask me, that's not a good thing." Rose Wilson shrugged. "I mean, remember what she did to Bombshell?"

"She threatened to kill Deathstroke too," Robin said. "Clearly that makes her a dangerous maniac. Slade deserves a fair trial by a jury of peers. It's not like he knows my secret identity or anything."

"Wait, she did what!?" Rose's single eye, her right eye, the one she hadn't cut out with a knife, widened. "Cass threatened my dad with murder? That makes her officially awesome!"

"I just wish Cyborg could be here," Wonder Girl said with a sigh.

In a crater somewhere far away from Central City, Cyborg sat half buried in the dirt, the corpses of murdered Teen Titans rotting around him.

"Hello!" Cyborg cried. "Anybody out there!? All these dead bodies are startin' to stank!"

The servos in his neck buzzed as he tried to look around. "Anybody? Anybody!?" No reply reached him. Why did that artist have to get injured? Why couldn't they find a backup?

"CURSE YOU, IAN CHURCHILL!" Cyborg cried. "A CURSE UPON YOU AND ALL YOUR CATTLE AND OXEN!"

December 10th

Robin had noticed that Batwoman had been tailing him for the past few days. He had no idea why. At first he thought she might want an autograph, so Robin kept leaving notes in places where she'd see them, his signature on all of them. Eventually he thought that perhaps she wanted a date and was simply shy, but then he remembered that she was a member of the SOJL, and hence the date option seemed unlikely.

Finally, he set a trap for her. It was a simple trap, but she fell for it. Robin threw down the thirteen-hundred page technical manual for the trap onto the snow-and-ice-covered Gotham alley and walked over to Batwoman. She was hanging upside down by her ankles, and her wrists where both bound by different ropes and pulled as far apart as they would go without injuring her.

"Why are you tailing me?" Robin demanded.

She muttered for a moment, then sighed. "Batman asked me to tail you. He wanted me to make sure you weren't turning evil."

"Turning evil?" Robin gasped. "Oh, does he have to harp on that. I almost turn evil ONE time and now he's expecting it to become a habit. It's ridiculous. I thought Bruce trusted me better than that."

"So Batman is Bruce Wayne!" Batwoman cried. "I knew it!"

Robin pulled out his grapple gun and started to leave.

"Hey, wait, aren't you going to untie me?" Batwoman asked.

Robin looked over at her as if weighing the options and frowned. "I dunno, I really don't have a reason to. It's not like you can't get out of that yourself, with all the training I'm sure you did before starting this career."

"Um… Well." Batwoman began to sweat despite it being cold enough to see her breath.

Robin goggled. "Don't tell me you've not been trained how to get out of a simple trap."

"Well, I'm not sure. Nothing about my origin has been revealed yet, so I really can't say. Someone—I wish I knew who—taught me how to throw a punch. Otherwise, I'm as clueless as you are."

"Hm. In that case, I guess I could let you out. But I'll need an incentive." Nearby Robin heard the hammer of a gun click, and he whirled around to see the Question—not Vic Sage, the new female Question—pointing a magnum revolver at his crotch.

"This incentive enough?" Montoya asked, a smile forming below the flesh-colored mask.

The next morning, Kate Kane found herself on the couch in her own living room and feeling incredibly sore. Still, she felt well enough considering what the Boy Blunder had put her through.

She had already started celebrating Hanukah, and it would close in just a few days. After that, Montoya intended to make her celebrate Christmas. Kate didn't mind.

Montoya, Kate thought. Why can't I make myself call her Renee?

"I brought you something," Renee Montoya announced as she entered the room. "It's not much, but…"

Renee handed Kate a small bottle of champagne. "I figured you'd want to drink off last night's embarrassment."

Renee stooped down and kissed her. "Happy Hanukah, Kate."

"Merry Christmas, Renee," she answered with a smile. She popped the cork of the champagne. "Still not going to have sex with you."

"Darn it!"

Tim Drake wasn't quite sure how old he was. He always counted his age using different methods and always came up with different figures. Sometimes he was pushing forty, and sometimes he was as young as seventeen. He wasn't quite sure what the problem was. Before his father was killed, they'd celebrated his sixteenth birthday. That was about two years ago, according to Batman. Even though it happened in 2004.

Mostly, Tim just assumed he was eighteen because that let him do pretty much anything but drink without breaking the law.

Nonetheless, he was old enough to know what suspicious behavior was. The subject he was stalking was exhibiting several signs of it, including a hurried pace despite nothing he seemed to be hurrying to.

Robin had left his costume back at Wayne Manor tonight by mistake, but managed to disguise himself with a coat and a pair of dark sunglasses he picked up at a local Seven-Eleven. He followed the suspicious man through several city blocks, hoping that it wasn't the Joker.

He'd had enough of the Joker last Christmas. (Or was it the Christmas before last? Or maybe it was this Christmas. He wasn't certain.)

Finally, the suspicious figure turned into an alley near a decrepit video arcade that Tim knew was a dead end. He followed the man into the alley, ready to fight for his life, if need be.

At the end of the alley, the man stood with his back turned. At first Robin thought he might be urinating in public, which was still technically a crime. A citizens' arrest would look good on his college application, he thought.

But then the man turned around, and Robin realized that he was wearing a Guy Fawkes mask.

"You think you're V for Vendetta?" Tim asked, slipping into his Robin voice.

"Technically the character's name is V," the man in the yellow coat said. "Thefor Vendetta part is just the title of the comic."

"Whatever. Who are you?"

"I think I should ask you the same question, Tim Drake." The man tilted his head as if to emphasize the Guy Fawkes' smile. "Who are you?"

"How do you know my name?" Tim demanded.

"I know a lot about you, Robin."

Robin gasped. "Great Scott! He has discovered my secret identity! Better call Zatanna."

"NO!" the man shouted. "You will not call that corrupt witch in here to erase my mind like you did to good-hearted souls like Doctor Light, Batman, Catwoman, and Richard Nixon. Your world's pathetic and corrupt heroes do nothing but destroy. That is why this world has to be destroyed. This is totally not a hypocritical statement."

"Hm." Robin thought a moment. "That rant sounded very familiar."

"Um. Pure coincidence, I assure you." The man bowed elaborately. "My name is Lou Alexander, and I can give you Conner back."

"You can?" Robin asked, arching an eyebrow. "Ra's al Ghul promised me the same thing, and I ended up turning evil. I'll only risk turning evil if you throw in my mom and dad as well."

"Done," said Lou. "And you can have Stephanie and Bart back too. Everyone."

"Who?" Robin asked, puzzled. He searched his brain, as if a tickle of a memory were trying to come to the surface. "Nope, nothing."

"Spoiler and Kid Flash," Lou said, frustration creeping into his voice. "You know. The girl you didn't get pregnant and the guy who could run really fast."

"Oh yeah, them!" Robin snapped his fingers. "I broke a perfectly good cell phone when Bart died. He owes me one."

"…." Lou stared at him. This child has become an imbecile, he thought. That makes him perfect for my plan. The fool doesn't even realize that I, Lou Alexander, am actually Alexander Luthor in disguise!

"Did you here something?" Tim asked, glancing around. "It sounded like an echoey nefarious announcement."

"Um, it must have come from the arcade," Lou explained. Mwahahahahaha!

"So what do I need to do?" Tim asked.

"Before the Twenty-Fifth of this month, I will need you to collect for me three items of incredible power: the three gifts of the Magi passed down to the Christ Child two thousand years ago."

Lou handed Tim a tracking device that displayed a world map.

"There's more than three blinking lights on this thing," Robin said. "I thought the only gifts were Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh."

"True," Lou Alexander said. "But the Gold itself was smelted down by a Pope in the middle ages and made into Holy Coins."

"Holy Coins?" Tim arched an eyebrow. "This sounds like something out of a Dan Brown novel—only less historically accurate. And that's SAYING something."

"We'll see," Lou said. "We'll see. Find me the pieces and then we'll talk."

Cute little squirrels ran by, nibbling on the corpse of a nearby former Titan as it rotted in the cool December breeze.

"Someone please dig me out of this hole!" Cyborg sobbed. "I'm tired of watching man-eating squirrels tear the flesh from Power Boy's bones!"

Story Beta-read By Legend Maker and BobCat.

Legend Maker: Wow, you really ratcheted the absurdity up for this, didn't you?

Chaltab: Ah, but ask yourself, is this any more absurd than most of what's been happening at DC over the past year or two?

Legend Maker: I stand corrected.

I suppose an explanation is in order. I, like many like-minded comics fans, am largely turned off by much of DC Comics output over the past two years. Especially the emasculation—both literally and figuratively—of the Teen Titans volume three. Kon-El and Bart Allen have both been killed off, and the only male on the Titans other than Robin is now Kid Devil, unless you count the 'sort of' Titan Blue Beetle. Furthermore, the book has failed to even have a consistent writer or roster since One Year Later began. All the while, Tim Drake, once my favorite DC character, has been heading closer and closer towards the deep end in his obsession with getting Conner back. And don't even get me started on Countdown or Amazons Attack.

This parody is a satire of what I feel is wrong with DC's editorial direction. I'm aware that it is pretty much incomprehensible for anyone not already a comics nerd. Ask any questions in your reviews and I'll try and answer them.


And honestly, I don't hate everything they're doing, but I hate enough of it for this to be a fun story to write. I'll listen to any constructive review, positive or negative. If you think a joke or character is falling flat or being underutilized, please tell me. Part Two should be forthcoming.

And whether you like this story or not, Merry Christmas and happy New Year.