Diary of a Superhero
Monday
Up with the lark and ready to save the world again. See that Superman's been putting himself about again, the glory-seeking bastard. Helped Mrs Brzezicki get her cat out of a tree, and hung around the mall will Hyperboy until the security guards made us leave. I'll give those fascists "Rag Week". The Batphone hasn't rung for two weeks now. Bored. Let Alfred wear the Batsuit tonight, he seems to like it.
Tuesday
Mrs Brzezicki was at my door today in the shortest skirt I have ever seen. My X-Ray Bat-vision told me she was also wearing the crotchless knicks again. It must be hell living with incontinence. Rescued her cat from a tree again, while she wittered on endlessly about my hairy bat-chest and smooth, manly pants-on-the-outside costume. Still nothing on the Batphone. Caught Robin in a compromising position with a piece of liver. Tenderising it for dinner, my arse.
Liver for dinner, took to my bed early and wanked myself senseless over Wonder Woman. Will this torture never end?
Wednesday
Did the
Barclays again. Most unsatisfactory, as Alfred walked in on my vinegar strokes to deliver breakfast in bed. I do wish he'd stop wearing the Batsuit all the time, it just doesn't go with the French maid's outfit.
On retrieving my scud mag from the floor, found that the Batphone had become disconnected from the wall socket. Bollocks. Plugged it back in, and immediately it was ringing off the hook. Apparantly, Mrs Brzezicki is stuck up a tree - naked - outside City Hall, and not even that smug bastard Superman will touch her. I fucking hate this job sometimes. Thank God for latex gloves.
Thursday
Stone me, what a day. Those spackers at City Hall let the super-villains out of prison AGAIN, and guess whose job it was to round them up? That's right - fucking Superman. While a Good vs Evil battle was raging downtown in front of the world's press, Boy Wonder and I were lecturing the Woman's Institute on our so-called glamourous life. Still, Robin pulled, if you can count Mrs Brzezicki as a "pull". I drove the Bat Mobile home and pulled myself.
Friday
Who the blinkin' fuck does Superman think he is? Man of steel? Man of shit, more like. Got my first serious call on the Batphone for weeks - not counting all that sex line business, but even superheroes have got to make ends meet - a break-in and hostage drama at the Seventh National Bank of Gotham. Alfred was using the Batmobile for the Tesco run, so I got there as fast as I could on the Bat Pushbike, only to find the Krypton Gaylord had it all tied up.
He was standing there, bragging away to the cameras about how bloody great he was and how "certain other" superheroes were "all washed up". I was so angry, I dropped my botttle of meths and shit in my pants, which in retrospect, didn't look too hot in front of the massed press corps. The ride back to the Batcave wasn't exactly a barrel of laughs either. I'm not coming out ever again.
Boy Wonder and Mrs Brzezicki are still at it. For a woman who's seen of six husbands, she's got a hell of a lot of energy. Perhaps there might be an opening for a Batgranny on the team.
Saturday
Alfred burst in on my vinegar strokes - as usual - to show me the morning papers. "Shat Man", "The Dark Shite Strikes Again", "The Caped Poo-sader". Fuck my luck. Even Boy Wonder's stopped talking to me, and Mrs Brzezicki's flounced of round to Superman's for "a nice Kryptonite injection", the shallow tart.
Stayed in bed all day with a bottle of gut-rot, and passed out around tea-time, waking only to puke all over the covers, and strangely, Alfred, who claims he was changing me into fresh Batpyjamas. I wonder about him half the time. He seems to spend more time in the bat suit than I do these days, and I'm not exactly enamoured with the Batbuttplug he's had fitted to the utility belt.
Sunday
Oh fuckity, fucking, fucking fuck my head. I swear on Boy Wonder's life I'm never going to drink ever again.
Aflred tiptoed in, with a disappointed look on his face to tell me of a super-villain plot which has taken over the world while I was puking and crapping my guts up. Superman, X-Men, Rocket Boy and all the other smug bastards - all gone. Even Boy Wonder and Batgranny, split arse-to-tit with a big smile on her face by Lex Luthor and his fusion-powered dildo. There's only me and the Hangover from Hell left to save the world.
Fuck 'em - that's what I say. Those bastards never called when I was down, so now it's payback time. I'm going over to the bad guys, who have promised me South America and all the virgins I can eat. General Zod's popping round later with the forms and the special Bad Guy's badge at teatime. A new world dawns. Had the Barclays while I waited.
