Batman sat behind the disturbingly large computer screen, his cowl draped behind his head blending into his cape. This was when he was most at ease, the rare moment of openly being both Batman and Bruce Wayne, watching over his city in the way God may look down on Earth, or a peeping Tom gazing into the biggest window. Even though it was Christmas, he was ever vigilant, for crime never acknowledges religious holidays.
Alfred appeared with a silver platter piled with finger sandwiches. Without looking, Bruce-bat took three and quickly made them disappear by shoving them into his mouth. It appears no one ever told him that one should close their mouth while eating. Alfred set the food down on a Bat-TV-dinner-tray, circa 1972, refusing to look at the exposed menace to manner’s disgusting eating hole, and added, “Sir, I believe it is time.”
The flexible hero sprung to his feet, but not without executing an aerial somersault first. Alfred muttered under his breath and famed pencil-thin mustache, “Show off.” With this, he disappeared into the darkness of the cave.
Batman ate six more sandwiches consisting of a Thai fish paste for omega 3, locally grown cucumbers for crunchy texture, and potato chips for more crunch. All on white bread with the crust trimmed off. He dramatically pulled the mask on, cleared his throat and growled, “Go time, Gotham!”
He hopped into the Batmobile. Face recognition started up the engine with a roar. As he put his foot on the accelerator, the engine revved, yet the car was motionless. It turns out; someone had stolen the wheels. Then he remembered; the Joker got away. Yes, that deadly, yet mischievous Clown Prince of Crime had gotten away. Again. For good measure, he had to be certain. Batman lifted his arm and took a deep whiff. He nodded with a severe grimace, yup, he smelled like a bagful of three day old socks. As he banged his head repeatedly on the steering wheel, he caught a glimpse of long-time sidekick, Robin the Boy Wonder, laying an egg.