You know, I’m getting a little tired of all the snide remarks about the way I fight crime.
We live in a world that has villains, and those villains have to be defeated by men with Batarangs. Or superpowers, if you’ve got them. (Yeah, and females too, don’t get your star-spangled knickers in a knot, Wonder Women.) I have a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for the psychotic killer that I sent to the hospital last night, and you curse my “methods”. You have that luxury.
Green Lantern, you can always capture crooks with that weird glowing shit from your alien ring. And you Wonder Woman, I wonder if that golden truth-telling lasso is as innocuous as it looks? You have easy options.
You know that when I beat that punk to within an inch of his life, while tragic for him, I saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives. I find it particularly ironic that you, Martian Manhunter find me grotesque, but you do, don’t you, you green uni-browed freak!
I’ll grant my methods are extreme, but they work. You people with your superpowers don’t dare admit it. You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me cruising the streets of Gotham in my Batmobile, you need me in my Batmobile! Who else is going to clean up that bat-hole?
I use words like discipline and detective work and a lot of made-up words starting with “Bat”. I use these words as the backbone of a life spent intimidating the criminal classes. You use them as a punchline. I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to you, who succeed because of the detective work that I provide, and then question the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said thank you, and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a Batarang and solve a few crimes without your superpowers.
Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think is “excessive” or “brutal” or “verging on insane”.
And you Superman — you are such a polished ass kisser that it takes my breath away. How dare you let Hal raise this issue, when you are just as tough on the thugs we fight as me! You break more bones with you love taps than I do with my Bat-ido.
Do you have any idea how hard I have to work just to be CONSIDERED a superhero? All you do is fly around in the freakin’ pajamas your mommy sent you to Earth in and you’re the darling of the media. You’re only special because of our sun — you’re just the product of our environment.
I don’t want to be a product of our environment. I want our environment to be a product of me. Years ago there were no superheroes. That was only you and me Clark – we had each other. We were real head-breakers; true vigilantes. We took over our cities! And twenty years after a superhero couldn’t be taken seriously, we had the JLA, and we rule this planet! And that’s what the “normies” don’t realize. If I got one thing against the “normies”, it’s this – no one gives it to you. You have to take it.
And you Wonder Woman. I know you think I’m a “normie”. I don’t have any god-given super-human powers. All I have is my intellect, my inventions, and my iron will. I’m a goddamn marvel of modern science. If Barry was here, he would tell you. He used to be a “normie” before he vibrated himself to death! Stop smirking Wonder Woman!
Now, I’m going to back to Gotham City. Always brings a smile to my face . . .
And Aquaman — there are two kinds of angry people – explosive and implosive. Explosive is the type of individual you see screaming at the cashier for not taking his coupon. Implosive is the cashier who remains quiet day after day and then finally shoots everyone in the store.
You’re the cashier. Probably at a fish market. And instead of shooting them, you’d get the lobsters to pinch their asses.
The End
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Goosefraba.
Surely there’s some kind of cure for AGS?