Detective Comics #652 (Late October 1992)

Oh, Travis Charest, my boy. God bless you.

It was only at this moment that I dressed up in Nazi garb, put on my best David Mitchell impression, and asked, "Am I the elitist?" Because when I look at Travis Charest's art, all I see is a person who is decent at art and maybe trying their best to emulate the comic book artists that came before them, but still has a long way to go before they're getting professional gigs. But, of course, he's got the professional gig already so am I wrong about it? That's not what makes me an elitist, though! What makes me an elitist is that if I thought that Travis Charest was a great artist who has done many different pieces over his career, in many different styles, I might actually look at this and think, "Stylistically, there's something interesting going on here." In other words, I'm judging this piece by poor Travis within a certain set of parameters that I've established in my mind. If I felt this style was a choice, I might applaud it. But sensing that this style is the best attempt Travis is making at doing comic book art (or laziest?), I find it not quite up to snuff. "Not quite up to snuff" is New Me speak for "absolute dripping bloody dreck with undigested corn chunks!"

In the past, some people have really gotten on my case about judging artist's art. Their main argument has been, "Let's see you do better!" And while the job of a critic isn't to prove that they're better than the things they criticize, I probably could attempt to draw this to back up my critique. But I won't for a few reasons. One, even if I drew this scene worse than Travis did (and, believe me, I would), I wouldn't ask DC to pay me for the work. Two, if I managed to draw this exactly as Travis has, I would be embarrassed, crumple it up, and throw it away to try again. And by "try again", I don't mean try to redraw it; I mean come up with a different career path.

Travis probably won't ever read this, right? I hope not because I don't mean to make him feel bad. My most venomous reviews of comic books are never proof that the artists or writers are terrible at their job; my most venomous reviews of comic books are proof that I hate myself and am, mentally, not doing well. Maybe Travis's art speaks the same for Travis! Maybe Travis just wasn't feeling very confident and sexually attractive when he drew this picture of The Huntress moments before she died from having her organs crushed by a too-tight belt.

Look at The Huntress's streamlined feet too! So cute and stylized! I'd really adore them if I knew the real reason they looked that way was because Travis didn't really care much about drawing feet. He was so gung-ho to draw that ass, he couldn't give a shit about the rest of the cover.

I don't know why I purchased this comic book back in 1992 but I could take a guess based on some clues in the previous paragraphs: I fucking hated myself and just didn't feel great about my life. Also maybe that ass.

Why is that a question? Is he asking the hostages what he should do to them?

As you can see, the rest of the issue isn't drawn by Travis Charest. To enjoy more of that art, you'll have to purchase old issues of WildC.A.T.S. or read some of my Darkstars reviews. I hope I didn't praise Travis's art in those reviews! Boy, I sure would be embarrassed if I sounded like a hypocrite!

That was sarcastic. I don't care if I sound like a hypocrite because I don't owe anybody the unending minutiae of the context of my life that makes all of my opinions perfectly viable with every other opinion, even if to a non-expert on me, it might sound like I contradict myself all the time. Maybe read Infinite Jest. That'll help explain that to you if you don't already understand it even if I've felt that way about being a hypocrite most of my life and I only just read Infinite Jest this year. It's one of the reasons I can't stand trying to communicate with people, especially on the Internet. Too often, people aren't dialoguing with other people; they're just looking for inconsistencies in people's ideas to pounce on them and give themselves a reason to not believe anything else the person ever says. Usually they're wrong about those inconsistencies because every fucking situation is different from every other situation and if you ever point to one of my opinions on one thing to show that it contradicts my opinion on a totally different thing, you can very politely fuck all the way off back up into your mother's uterus. Which I've just recently lovingly spackled with my love plaster.

A corollary to people trying to prove other people are hypocrites are people who are so careful about the things they believe because they feel everything has to back up some foundational text which upholds the rest of their ideology. These people often miss the historically right side of an issue in the present because they're so concerned about the way their beliefs interweave between more than one situation. If you don't know what people I'm talking about, forget it! I didn't mean nothing by it! Can't we all just get along?

I'm turning over a new leaf as of July 18th, 2025! I'm no longer burning bridges! I'm now just pissing on them. Oh, sure, I'll still fucking hate every MAGA chud until the day one shoots me in the face and then claims self-defense because one of the lessons they've learned the best is that if they kill the second side of the story, their side is the only one the judge and jury get to hear. People who shoot other people in public disagreements do so because they're either the biggest cowards on the planet and feel that their life is always in danger from another person carrying around a gun like they are (cops are a good example of this) or they just want to find an excuse to murder somebody and believe they'll get away with it on claims of self-defense (cops are a good example of this). Anyway, I'd rather be shot in the head than live one second of my life afraid that somebody else might shoot me in the head if I don't carry a fucking gun around with me. Grow up, you dickheads.

Why does that shopper have a Tesco bag? Is Gotham City in the United Kingdom?

None of the artists are from the UK so what the fuck, man? Even colorist Adrienne Roy wasn't. Tesco never had a store in New York, did it?! I guess somebody was just a fan!

As you can see, the Narrator thinks these robbers are fucking stupid. I'd guess the narrator would be Batman but The Huntress is also on the cover and I think she's pretty judgmental too. It would be nice if somebody would come along, say somebody like Scott Lobdell, and fix it so all Narration Boxes begin, "My name is So-And-So. I fight crime and talk like I'm doing commentary on a LaserDisc."

Just a second. I need to go check eBay for a used working LaserDisc player! BRB! Holy shit they're more expensive than they were 35 years ago!

I really miss owning two thing: a LaserDisc player and my 1972 Volkswagen Bus. Also all of my cats over the years but I didn't own them. I wouldn't say, "I miss owning two things: my grandmother and my grandfather."

The Narrator turns out to be The Huntress, whichever fucking version it was in 1992. Helena Bertinelli, I guess? She's apparently been "out of the game" for some time so doesn't feel confident stopping the robbers. She just watches as a subway transit cop gets gunned down while she thinks, "He was outgunned. Should have known better. Dumber than the robbers." Okay, maybe she's not that judgmental. That was all me.

Helena watches Batman beat the shit out of the criminals as she thinks about how much she loved it but how scared she is now.

Not once does she think, "I am going to sue the fuck out of my hairdresser."

So Helena has given up being The Huntress until she runs into Batman in the subway and she makes her wet herself (in the good way not the bad way) and that's a sign to be The Huntress again? This moment, the way I depicted it, is so incestual if you bother to think about the original Huntress which you probably don't because Crisis On Infinite Earths erased all of that continuity and now only people suffering from The Mandela Effect remember it. Or anybody who read any comic books post-Crisis in which the creators were all, "Let's bring back Helena Wayne!" Too bad their second thought wasn't, "Maybe her head gets stuck in the washer at Wayne Mansion when Bruce suddenly walks in?" Because that would be terrible! In a comic book, there's no implied consent. In pornography, I think everything is implied consent! So if you're in a pornographic movie and you walk in on somebody naked from the waist down and they're top half is stuck in a washing machine or wood chipper, it's okay to have sex with them. Everybody is already asking for it if you're in a porno!

On her way back to her apartment, Helena Bertinelli notices two guys waiting to ambush her on the landing at the top of the stairs.

"Something else you want"? Dude, stop thinking past the money. You're holding a fucking board with a nail in it. Get her money, go buy a knife, than worry about whether or not your victim also has some Pokémon cards.

Helena beats the shit out of the muggers and kicks them down the stairs. Then she casually heads to her apartment and forgets about them. I hope they don't rush off and kill her uncle now! It'll be such a hard lesson to learn that nobody in the world will ever let anybody else in the world forget it! 'nuff said!

Inside Helena's apartment, we learn a little bit about her by the objects and creatures in the backgrounds.

She owns a cat and the Great American Novel, Assault Rifles. Oh, and a Dave Brubeck knock-off CD by "Dave Brubek".

The cat doesn't yet get a name but it's probably Selena or Isis. Les Misérables' spine is marked with a "V-H" to distinguish it as Victor Hugo's version and not C-M Schönberg's version. I'm assuming, and this might just be me, that she has The Right Stuff because she rubs herself silly re-reading the passage where Gus Grissom burns to death. I know that sounds terrible but doesn't it also sound sexy? Paul Haggis won an Academy Award for Best Picture suggesting that car crashes make people horny! I won't stand being called gross and disrespectful for suggesting the Helena is into snuff! Why else would she use a crossbow, a notoriously slow-to-load artifact of medieval battle?! She loves the visual of death by penetration!

You either get what I'm laying down or you're an uptight prude! There's no in-between! I SAID THERE'S NONE!

I just went back and re-read the beginning of this comic book and saw that Batman let the robbers get away because they grabbed hostages. I guess Batman could tell they weren't the kind of guys who are into killing hostages if they don't have to so he let them get away. Also if they wind up killing the hostages, it isn't Batman's fault! Batman doesn't kill! I mention that because Helena has decided to become The Huntress again to catch the robbers whom Batman let get away. And this isn't your slightly older sibling's The Huntress from, like, a year ago. This one is different!

This Huntress throws daggers into The Joker's penis shaft!

Helena doesn't just get her tits out and throw on the costume. No fucking way! She's a teacher, motherfucker! She's off to do research! Like how many knives can one dick take before death occurs? And how long can a woman have camel toe before her labia goes numb and falls off? Those are my guesses as to what kind of research she's going to do because I don't like her explanation: "A huntress has to know her prey." How the fuck is the library going to tell her about the men who robbed the jewelry store?!

Oh wait! I'm such an idiot! I forgot about newspapers and microfiche! She's going to find clues in proper and well done journalism! Good thing this story takes place in 1992 because she'd be shit out of luck if she had to rely on today's journalists.

She's still not thinking about suing her stylist.

Oh yeah! I forgot she saw an important tattoo on one of the criminals! I thought it was the flag of Wales!

The only time I ever remember using the library for information that wasn't school-related was when playing "Wizardry III: Legacy of Llylgamyn". One of the riddles went something like "I'm one of the deck of seventy-eight." There was more but I forget what it was. I figured it meant it was a Tarot card but I knew nothing about Tarot cards so it sent me to the library to do occult research! Later, I married Satan and sucked his dick. Thanks a lot, Robert Woodhead and Andrew Greenberg! I'm full of the devil's cum because of you!

By the way, I know the Welsh flag has like a dragon on it and not a griffon. But I was only half paying attention earlier. Remember how I had to go back to realize Batman let the robbers go? My mind was distracted but I can't remember what by. I'm almost 54! I was probably thinking about how some odd pain in my body was probably cancer.

After the library, Helena tries to hunt down some of the stolen goods.

Of course you feel eyes on you. Your stylist obviously doesn't have a current license to do hair!

Helena chances on a pawn shop where the clerk has the same accent she heard the criminals using. She doesn't immediately beat the shit out of him because she's not a cop. Instead, she plants a recorder or something under the display case to get more information. On the way out, she notices the bum that was checking her out earlier hanging about waiting for her. She chases him but he gets away because he's probably Batman going undercover. Which he is. Seems Batman needs to get better at being unobserved. Unless he wanted her to see him because he's got a lonely old bat-boner and she's fit and also I just remembered that she's, sort of, if you squint just right, his daughter. Gross!

Later that night, The Huntress runs into Batman on a nearby roof as they're both staking out the pawn shop. Batman has a super computer in his Wayne Basement (the Bat Cave!) so he didn't need to go to the library to figure out who the criminals were. I almost typed "who the bad guys are" but I thought that might be too confusing. People would read it and think, "Wait? Batman's going after the cops?" Criminals might also be a good descriptor for cops but since I've used it previously to describe the guys who robbed the store, it seemed less ambiguous.

Batman and The Huntress decide to work together. Mostly because Batman has a subconscious need to work with the daughter he never actually had. And also The Huntress has all of the evidence and Batman refuses to push her to the ground and take it. That would look bad no matter how many Gamergaters would cheer. No wait. The more Gamergaters who cheer something actually helps make the thing look worse. So it would look bad and then it would look even worse when some online loser with no ability for introspection applauds the deed.

From Helena's voice recorder, they learn where the pawn broker will be meeting up with the other members of the criminal organization later that night. Batman and Helena crash the meeting, easily subduing them all and tying them up tight for the Gotham Police. Except it doesn't quite go that way because before Batman and The Huntress can leave, the bad guys show up.

Yeah. No ambiguity this time. It's the cops. They're the bad guys.

Detective Comics #652 Rating: B-. Who came up with the trope that if somebody has diplomatic immunity, they basically have carte blanche to commit whatever crimes they want and nobody is legally allowed to stop them? "Oh shit! That diplomat just fucked every animal in the zoo and used the Santorum to make milkshakes for all the kids! We wanted to warn everybody but it would have been illegal for us to try!" If it was a trope because it allowed vigilante characters to stop criminals when the cops' hands were tied due to regulations, then this would be a perfect use of it! But instead, Batman and The Huntress are going to be arrested for helping stop more crime?! "Outrageous!" is a thing I would yell while slamming my fist down on the desktop if this wasn't a story about Gotham. Instead, I just nod while continuing to sniff my finger that I'd just recently stuck in my belly button and say, "Yeah, seems about right." (Meaning the cops and not the vintage of my filthy bodily odors.)

I almost said that I was sniffing my finger which I had just shoved up my ass but then thought, "No way! People might believe me!" And then, as I sniffed a shit finger, I was all, "I don't care if they believe I was just sniffing a belly-button finger. But to have people believe I was just casually sniffing a shit finger? Even I can't bear the indignity of that!"