"Breaking news from the White House!"

Horns wail hysterically.

"Aoooga! Aooga!"

They wail and wail, showing absolutely no sign whatsoever of stopping. The anchor's face scrunches up in pain but he heroically keeps reporting.

"Breaking news, you guys!"

"The president has had another surgery to accommodate his beautiful mementos of suffering."

The anchor is sweating profusely, his forked tongue hanging limply and the black pools that serve as his eyes leaking ink down his face. The camera man shudders.

"Uh, guy? There's something weird going on with your face right there."

The anchor nods, sobbing.

"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm having a bad hair day. God awful."

The anchor's hair is actually beautiful beyond measure. On a scale of blue to red, his would not belong anywhere. Some people just have to look at themselves honestly and allow themselves to see the true beauty they possess, you know?

"Uh," the cameraman says.

The anchor keeps reporting like a champ, and the wailing finally stops.

"The leader of the free world is now equipped with large, fleshy wings, that scientists believe might actually be used for flight, especially in conjunction with massive platypus tails. The president's wingspan is approximately 42 feet when the wings are completely unfolded, thereby making him the biggest known creature to take to the skies, if he ever were to do so, which really would be just a bit too ridiculous according to our experts."

"In other news, the pope's Hell on Earth project is reportedly going along swimmingly. The proximity of the place is bringing out hitherto unknown qualities in humans, according to scientists. Latest reports suggest that we may have been the demons all along."

"In related news, pope Boniface is currently waging a bloody war throughout Italy, as the mafia has started an uprising in retaliation for the pope's decision to stop selling absolution. He has also decided to spread Christianity throughout the cosmos, thereby becoming the space pope as prophesized."


Mr. Freeze saunters onto the massive screen in the Wayne Manor living room.

"We will now be showing It's a Wonderful Life: The Porn Parody."

Bruce hates himself just a little more as he feels the all too familiar unwanted stirrings.

"Do we really have to watch this?"

Zatanna nods gravely.

"Yes. Absolute control of this house and all its inhabitants is my price for helping you out with this mystical problem."

The Joker plays the trombone somewhere in the distance.

"Does he really have to live with us?"

"Yes. My apprentice is integral to my plans. Now shush."

The sultry, robotic voice keeps coming from the screen.

"Right after that comes A Christmas Carol: The Porn Parody, starring me as all sorts of sexy ghosts."

Bruce hides his head in his hands and sobs.

"How can one man be so goddamn sexy?"


"This just in! It seems the world thinks less of America now than it did a month ago, for some reason that includes drone strikes, according to scientists. With us here in the studio is an expert."

The anchor turns to the expert.

"Do you have any idea why this would be, John?"

"Not a clue, John. Not a single...fucking...clue. It's probably just some sort of crazy terrorist logic, maybe? It's like they don't realize we're the good guys, or something."

"What do you think the president's next step should be?"

"Well, I think the only logical course of action would be to step up the attacks. Murder a few more people, see if that doesn't calm them down. Use terror to fight terror. Though of course it's not really terror if we do it. Not at all."

The anchor nods gravely.

"This just in: The president has just announced that there will be no more drone strikes. It seems he will be taking over the drone's duties to save taxpayer money and add a personal touch to the victims' final moments."

Both the anchor and expert wipe tears from their eyes as they watch footage of the president soaring through the skies, disappearing into the horizon.

"God bless, you beautiful American hero. God bless us all. Each and every single one."

"Make 'em bleed, sir."


Batman grunts as he trudges down the hall, wondering just what is going on and how he got there. He can't remember though. It's a tough life, it truly is.

"Clowns. Everywhere."

It is true. There are countless clowns milling about. They giggle ceaselessly.

"It's not funny."

There are green clocks on the wall. Their faces smirk down at him.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock," say the riddlers. "What question can you never answer with yes?"

He grabs his head and groans.

"Argh. Justice. Justice!"

The potted plants bear fruit, heavy little fiery-haired heads rolling about.

"The cleansing fire will come," they chant.

He steps on nature's face, crushing it underfoot. It sprouts right back up. He snarls.

"Justice."

Further down there is a little scarecrow hanging on a crucifix. It raises its head and stitched lips whisper.

"Some things refuse to stay buried. Here is a land where only the dead may live."

It starts wrenching its nailed limbs free.

"Justice," he murmurs hatefully as he turns his back on the thing.

There is a cat with a human face sitting in his armchair. He refuses to acknowledge its existence, though he flips a finger in its general direction.

"Where is all the justice?"

Suddenly Batman wakes up in a comfy bed.

"What a dream!"

"Holy mackerel, Batman."

But it is not sweet, sweet Robin who speaks. No, it is Killer Moth. And he is smiling and braiding Batman's hair. He has finally found a friend.


Up above the world the Calendar Man smiles, playfully moving the story to another date. Thinks he's so damn cute, the jerk. The story is now taking place on New Year's Eve, completely bypassing X-mas. That son of a gun! He got us good this time. He winks mischievously.

The news room is empty of people. Instead there are two hyenas. They have party hats on. In their gaping jaws rest party horns. There is a countdown on the screen. 10!

9! Tongues flapping everywhere.

8! So furry!

7! What cuddly creatures.

6! One cocks its head to the side.

5! How the hell do the party horns even stay put?

4! All stubby teeth and saliva, argh, so cute.

3! That's right, they're looking at you buster, looking straight into your heart and filling it with emotions you didn't even know existed.

2! Uh-oh, looks like they're getting ready to do something even cuter than just exist.

1! Better prepare yourself, alright?

AAAAAAGH! Party horns blowing! Aaaaah! Jesus Christ! Your television just exploded in a burst of flaming cuteness overload. God damn. Do those furry pieces of shit not know what that thing cost? Yeah, they probably do. They just don't care, the heartless beasts.

If your television hadn't exploded you would now be directed to the screen behind them, which is dispensing all sorts of fascinating news. Thankfully these words are made of sterner stuff than screens, so you can read all about it anyway.


Up in the skies a majestic creature glides in the night sky somewhere far from the land of freedom. It is a mythical beast known only as a President. It slowly descends on a peaceful village on a mountainside.

A few minutes later the triumphant champion of freedom stands upon a pile of bodies, basking in the first rays of the sun and victory. He fills his lungs with air, then releases it along with some sounds.

"Top of the world, ma!"


A clown plays a jolly tune on his accordion, beaming a smile down at his grumpy friend. Said grumpy friend considers breaking his one rule but then decides: Nah.

"Did you have to give him an accordion? Did he need to get a present?"

Zatanna shakes her head at him.

"Clowns need love too, Bruce."

He gnashes his teeth.

"I don't. Care. About. The clowns."

"In other news, my mystical mumbo jumbo isn't being very successful. I'm starting to think discarding the unborn children idea completely may be wise."

Bruce slumps to the ground, with dramatic accordion music in the background.

"Zatanna. Help me now, Zatanna. I'm going crazy. I hate clowns. Love justice."

"Jeez, I'm working on it, ok? I have a few leads. Like that machine down in your cave, it's giving all sorts of weird vibes."

He looks up, pushing the clown's face out of his so he can see the magician.

"What, my Justice-Dreamer machine? I don't see how that could possibly have anything to do with this problem."

She shrugs.

"Alright, alright. We'll look at something else, then."


The Calendar Man is back to his same old tricks. It is now X-mas. That damn rascal. Think you're so damn clever, don't you? Just you wait, buster. Just. You. Wait. We're going on a date, you and I. That's right, I'm putting it in your schedule right now. And we all know you can't miss a date. Not so smug now, are you? Heh. Heh. That's right. Get lost, you ass. Be seeing you. Wink, wink, flirt, flirt.

The camera shows everyone's favorite furry quadrupeds in the newsroom. They have their tongues out, but their professional eyes stay trained on the camera. A video runs on the screen behind them, showing the news. Something about corruption in America being at an all-time low due to the mysterious murder of every single lobbyist. But who cares about that when there are adorable creatures like Bud and Lou around? Nobody, that's who.


Back in reality, or fiction as it is more commonly known, Thomas Wayne raises his hand. It is bloody and shivering, like his whole body. He gurgles, as his son cries above his prone, bleeding body.

"It's okay, Bruce. Don't be afraid."

He coughs up a liter or two of blood, cringing at the unfathomable pain he is probably going through and his little son is undoubtedly imagining in vivid detail.

"I have something to say, Bruce."

His fumbling, pale hand pats his son on the face, smearing it crimson. It is a heartfelt moment, for sure.

"I'm so proud of you."

Tearful eyes look down at him with love. He chuckles bloodily. Then he pulls himself up, moving his face so that it is only inches from the little boy's.

"Heh, heh, heh."

He smiles incredibly, ruby lips inching slowly upwards on his pale face. His eyes are tiny dots of warm, fatherly mirth and jovial pride.

"Merry bloody Christmas, Bruce."


AN: Yeah, you just read that. I'm sorry. I really am. I also apologize because I promised a special someone this wouldn't get too ridiculous and Batman wouldn't go too insane. But it seems I just can't help myself. Sorry, man.

In other news, I'm starting to think making this into a never-ending story might be a good idea. Because beginnings and endings are such dull things.