On the midnight streets of Gotham City, at the corner of Badger Boulevard and Olsen Street, just outside of Gotham City Hall, were two men. One stood ramrod straight, glancing up and down the street as if he was looking for something. The other man, piled on the ground and bound at the wrists and ankles, was cackling, his too-wide mouth showing too many teeth.
“Oh!” the bound man laughed. “Oh, this is rich! Absolutely, utterly, filthy rich!” He kept cackling, slamming his head on the ground in his mirth. “So rich it makes Bruce Wayne look like a pauper! Batman, the Caped Crusader, the Dark Knight of Gotham, can’t remember where he parked!” Continue reading “Dude, Where’s My Batmobile?”