Batman #52

I bet we get Happy Batman for only one issue and the Rebirth will provide him with plenty of reasons to be sad and justice-obsessed again. Besides, we already have Happy Batman and his name is Dick Grayson.

The Review!
If Issue #51 was Snyder's epilogue, Issue #52 is Tynion's footnote. That doesn't mean it's less important! Footnotes are quite important to the overall understanding of the complicated thing being read. Or the wanting to be postmodern thing being read. Whatever. Anyway, it's a pleasant little story about how Alfred helped focus young Bruce's obsession so that the search for justice wouldn't consume him, and he'd always keep in mind that he was doing it for his parents. Or something. Maybe I didn't understand the story as much as I could have had I not been punching holes in my wall while screaming, "Why didn't you ever show your love, Daddy?! Why couldn't you die while I still had an untarnished image of you, Mommy?!" Reading this will probably be a different experience for most of you. Aside from the damaged sheet rock, it was an enjoyable story!

The Commentary!
Thanks to Jury Duty, I'm even further behind in my comic books than I already was! What shit timing because Rebirth comes out in about ten hours and I won't be able to read it immediately. Which means somebody, somewhere, is definitely going to spoil the entire thing for me. I guess I'm just going to have to ignore my Message Inbox for a few weeks. Luckily, nothing exciting happened during Jury Duty. It was so many levels of boring greater than I remember boring being. The best part was when a guy approached me because he must have thought I was poverty-stricken. He came up to me on the second day during lunch and said, "Excuse me, sir. I noticed you didn't go out for lunch yesterday either. Would you like a sandwich?" He then offered me what looked like a homemade egg salad sandwich which obviously means it's also a homemade germs from his unwashed dick hands sandwich as well. I politely declined and then chuckled to myself. See, I have this Burberry trench coat that I've been wearing for nearly a decade that I call my bum coat. I purchased it for less than twenty bucks at a Buffalo Exchange for a Philip K. Dick costume. Now ten years or so on, it looks even more like a hobo trench coat because it's severely in need of a good dry cleaning. It probably has more unwashed dick hands germs on it than the guy's Smeg-Salad sandwich.

Anyway, the final issue of New 52 Batman! I guess Scott Snyder couldn't be bothered to write fifty-two issues because he's a highfalutin la-dee-da dandy-pants. It's a good thing James Tynion IV is his thrall. "Larksadaisy, I think I've got a touch of the vapors! Somebody get Squire James on the horn and tell him another opportunity for greatness has arisen! He may write Batman once more! Oh, and whoever made this sweet tea? Kill them."

The issue begins two weeks after Martha and Thomas Wayne were murdered. Doctor Leslie Thompkins decides to pay Alfred and Bruce a visit. She also believes it's a good time to make jokes about acquiring the Wayne's grandfather clock. Alfred also explains why Wayne Manor wound up creepily being the home of just a butler and a young boy for so long. Alfred had to fire the other staff because he always hated them.

Doctor Leslie's professional advice to young Bruce was to make a list because she's the psychological equivalent of Cracked dot com. But Bruce is too young to realize that making lists is a stupid fucking way to organize content. It's much better to simply label something in a completely misleading and incomprehensible way so that you can disguise the place where you actually tell your most secret inner failings and life-shattering existentialist fears. Then people will stumble upon it and think, "What is this nonsense? Oh! I think it's about a subject I enjoy! Plus it's funny! I think. I mean, what's with all the wallowing in death anxiety and obvious abundance of Mother Issues?"

The first thing on Bruce's list must be "Watch more television." The second thing on his list is "Learn something mystical and wise from an Oriental mystic." Don't side-eye me! Bruce is the one who uses terms like "Oriental!" Didn't you see how I put that in quotes? That means it was based on the character and not mired in my racism!

After those two seminal moments of Bruce's past (which must be the most seminal moments ever or why did the story begin with them?), the story returns to the present where Batman is continuing his obsession with making lists.

This must be a new list because "Disappear." is totally different from "Watch more Great Space Coaster!"

Batman is hunting a new villain named Crypsis. It's also possibly an old villain. How should I know? Is this called Eee! Who's Who Ate Chai Tea? Of coruse it isn't! That doesn't make any sense, dumb-dumb.

I'm not ashamed that I had to look up on the Internet what "crypsis" meant. I am ashamed to say I've already forgotten because the Internet is full of naked people.

Batman fails to stop Crypsis from stealing Safety Deposit Box 1047. That number probably means something. But if it has anything to do with October 1947, I don't know what that would be because the covers of Batman and Detective Comics for that month are just the usual silly bullshit featuring Penguin and The Joker. The case has something important to Bruce Wayne inside of it. Maybe it's his original Recovery To-Do List! It could cause some real embarrassment for Bruce Wayne if Vicki Vale were to get her hands on it! You all know how embarrassing your earliest attempts at writing were, right? I mean, I don't know because everything I've ever written has been spun gold. I mean, it hasn't actually proven to be valuable at all. But some day, I'll be regarded as the more reclusive Emily Dickinson!

Another entry: #3 See How Small I Can Make My Penis.

Batman continues to remember his list and I have to admit, it is funnier than most of Cracked dot com's lists. "Disappear. Feel nothing. Let go of everything. Make them feel what I feel (which is, by the way, nothing if I'm doing the list correctly. Don't worry! It probably makes sense! My mind is damaged from trauma, remember! Gosh! Stop being so judgy!)."

There's another flashback and it makes my tear ducts think that they might be needed later, so they begin firing up the machinery.

Does Leslie Thompkins actually have a degree? What the hell has she been telling this kid?!

Bruce tears out the page with Alfred's addendum to his list. Oh, I bet that's what's in the stupid safety deposit box! Just that one page! And I bet Alfred wrote something stupid like "#99: If you insist on masturbating into the hand towels, please rinse them out yourself." Or maybe something more helpful and heartfelt also.

The entire notebook is inside the box. But I bet Alfred's page is Scotch taped back in! And I bet it's covered in baby Bruce tears!

Uuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggghhhhhhh! Whew. Whew. I did it! I avoided tacking on "and semen!" to the previous paragraph! I have the willpower of Hal Jordan!

Dammit. That didn't make me cry at all. Shut'er down, tear ducts! You won't be needed again until we pass another dead raccoon on the freeway!

Don't get my caption wrong! It's a nice bit of writing and a touching sentiment and blah-de-blah-blah-blah! It's just I've never given a fuck about how proud or not proud my parents were of me! Proud? Who the fuck cares about proud?! You know what did mean the world to me? The unconditional love of my mother's parents who never would have expressed their affection in such a cold way as "being proud." You know who says things like "We're proud of you no matter what you do"? Assholes parents who are really just saying, "Well, you're a fucking failure, but I guess we have to love you anyway." Look what needing somebody to proud of them has done to this poor lonely, damaged, and frightened child?! He had to become the greatest hero of all time just to think maybe he could make his Mommy and Daddy proud!

You know what? I could just be arguing semantics! But I really feel it's an important distinction to make sure your kids know you love them and want them to be happy and fuck all this pride nonsense. It's what makes corporate monsters!