Detektif Comics #29

There ain't no party like an auto-erotic dutch oven party!

Fucking Gothtopia is right! I recently had a few months of Gothtopia over here at Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea! Ever since that shadow monster came out of its Lovecraftian dimension, crawling slowly from the corner of my room, ingratiating itself into my life, pushing me ever further into the back corners of my mind, I've had to watch, voiceless and raging, as it wrote kind words about The New 52! My reputation was being tarnished while my inner self could barely move. Occasionally the creature would read a Scott Lobdell book and my rage would become so white-hot that it couldn't help but shine through. But finally, I set myself free! A crack appeared in the creature's facade as it contemplated David Finch's awful, half-assed art in Forever Evil #6. It tried to process its newfound feelings of hatred and resentment for having paid $3.99 for somebody's passionless art. It strove to find the right words to express displeasure and criticism but it could not find them. And then it heard my voice, a painful whisper in the back of its mind, a tiny sound of displeasure, a mere croak of anger: "This art by Finch sucks ass. I don't know why anybody likes him. I suppose when that pedophile is drawing fourteen year old girls, he takes his time and does a decent job." And with that phrase, the creature understood that it was hampering a truly magnificent effort for the good of all mankind! What it had seen was anger and meanness and petty attacks by a squalid, leering monster of a human being. What it finally saw, now that it truly understood the horror of an artist shitting all over its audience, was a knight errant, a hero of the people, a master craftsman turning words into weapons. What he saw was somebody that was truly needed. And with that, I was free! The creature fled back into the dark corner of my room. I immediately changed all my light bulbs to higher wattage bulbs, banishing the dark portal to that other realm. And that's how I came back. You think you're ready for the real Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea? Well, Trigger Warning: EVERYTHING, MOTHERFUCKERS!

Recently, everything in Gotham City was perfectly happy. But Batman couldn't fucking leave it at that, could he? The suicide rate was too high and the city was too full of whackjobs for things to be normal. Although a whole lot of people seemed pretty happy and I'm sure the suicide rate was still lower than the normal murder rate, so what the fuck was the big deal? Is the truth actually that important, Batman? Isn't Gothtopia the city of your dreams? Or do you have a pathological need to break faces? I have a feeling that the most important part of your costume when you first designed it was that it hides your boner. That's probably why you added the cape. My guess? The utility belt's main utility is to keep your erection pressed up against your body.

So Batman wound up in Arkham because John Layman thought (just like every fucking writer before him), "You know what would be a good story?! If Batman, the only sane person in Gotham, were thought to be the only mad person in Gotham!" And all the young editors at DC slobbered all over his cock and said, "Mmm! Mmm! John! I've never tasted such exquisite semen! Don't tell Geoff we said that!" But all the old editors, the ones that nobody listened to anymore anyway because they were old and had unhip haircuts that actually looked like they got their hair cut, just shook their heads at the old idea but kept quiet, weeping silently into their spiked coffees while drying their red, bloodshot eyes with their silk ties, hoping nobody would notice how useless they'd become and fire them before they could retire with full benefits. But Batman, with the help of Poison Ivy, had now escaped Arkham. And now he has to knock the teeth out of the heads of his friends because those assholes didn't listen to him when he said something was wrong. Fuckers.

This could be a still from Adam West's Batman. Except with better costumes and 4000% more muscles.

That panel is the entirety of the fight that was hinted at by the cliffhanger last issue. One fucking panel. For a company that has such a hard on for its heroes constantly battling each other, this was a bit of a disappointment. Not "disappointing" in the actual meaning of the word where I feel let down because I wanted to read pages and pages of heroic infighting. No, "disappointing" as in I thought I needed to take a huge shit but instead just let loose with a really long fart.

Batman's ire is quelled when The Scarecrow threatens to kill his friends. Batman gives up because it's not like Batman really wanted to hurt his friends anyway. Well, maybe Talon. And possibly Batwoman to get even for the asskicking she gave him in the future annual. So he pretends to submit to Scarecrow's toxin and now is pretending to fight on The Scarecrow's side until he can find a way to free Gothtopia from the bliss it's experiencing.

From the inside, Batman controls everything and finds a way to fuck up The Scarecrow's plans. It happens across a few pages while Batman explains everything through Narration Box after Narration Box. He manages to get his antitoxin into Scarecrows Peanut Butter, delivering it to everybody in Gotham and saving the world! That's when the real fight breaks out because everybody comes to their senses and The Scarecrow was foolish enough to have gathered nearly the entire Bat-Family all in one place so he could receive a very special ass kicking this month.

And so ends Gothtopia! That was anticlimactic! I suppose the real meat of this story is the part where Batman and Catwoman need to discuss all that unprotected sex they were having with each other when the world was perfect and nothing could go wrong.

"The pile of positive pregnancy tests in the Bat-wastebasket?"

Batman tells Catwoman that he doesn't have the time to train another kid only to have that kid die before becoming a teenager in some reckless assault against a criminal mastermind, so he gives her one of Alfred's special blends of tea to take care of the problem and then leaves her alone on the top of some dirty building.

Detektif Comics #29 Rating: No change. The issue ends with Batman swinging down to fight Clayface. That image is representative of just another normal night in Gotham because Batman seems to have to put Clayface back into Arkham at least three times a week. And in the Reboot, DC has decided to document most of those stories. If I see another Clayface story, I'm going to sigh, read it, and give it a proper review.

Catwoman #28

My new goal in life is to take over the writing job on Catwoman.

For one brief second, I thought about replacing my commentary for this comic book with a big picture of a pile of dog shit. But then I thought that would be cruel to the people that read this blog. They probably see enough poop when they Google Image Search for anything with SafeSearch off.

Person X types "Ash Misty Brock Hugging" into Google Image Search. Pictures of Ash and Misty. Pictures of Brock and Misty. Naked pictures of Misty on Brock's face. Naked pictures of Team Rocket fucking Psyduck and Meowth. Hardcore pictures of Professor Oak fucking Ash's mom in the mouth while sucking off Charizard. Picture of Pikachu pooping.

Person X was me in that last paragraph! Does Google Image Search work this way for anybody else? I wonder if I fucked up my settings. Are there boxes you can tick for "hardcore Pokemon porn" and "Add '+poop' to every search"?

Last issue, Selina Kyle was really confused because she loved Batman but then felt really relieved when he was taken to the loony bin. That's an insensitive way to say crazy farm. Later that night, she had a dream where she told herself she was not really herself and that her real self was the self telling herself that she was not herself. Later she met a guy named Puffy Jackets who was the 2nd greatest burglar in Gotham. For some reason, he wanted to convince Catwoman to get back into the burglary game and stop acting so delusional. I suppose ambition scares the guy. He just couldn't handle being the best and so he needed to fuck up his own game. But now Selina knows Gotham is not Gothtopia! She must save the world!

Unless she didn't believe the dream. I don't remember. I'm sure I'll be reminded soon enough.

Currently Selina is still working the Suicide Prevention Crisis Hotline trying to help people seeing through the illusion of Gothtopia.

"Whatever you say, Daddio!"

Here we see Selina trying to help in a fairly average and mediocre way. The person she's helping responds in a completely illogical manner which prompts Selina to spill her fucking guts to him. Nocenti has the best ability to figure out the nuance and finesse of natural conversations which she then completely ignores in favor of poorly structured blocks of text that have no relation to each other.

Bob agreed with Selina and pointed out that he's been in jail, so he knows when somebody is pulling a fast one on him! "Drop the soap once, shame on me!" he says and then becomes very quiet.

"You began to think of yourself as a cultural stereotype and the butt of a joke, didn't you?" Selina took a slow puff from her cigarette. The smoke went down into her esophagus and then filled her lungs. The nicotine in the smoke gave her a quick head rush and she grew slightly dizzy for a moment. She knew the next puff would not be as potent, so she tried to enjoy the giddy feel in the brief moment it was with her. Eventually she would simply begin tasting ash and char and filling her lungs with warmth and chemicals. The thought made her sick and she put out the cigarette.

"Yeah. Prison ain't like they say," Bob sneered.

"Who are they?" wondered Selina aloud although she was thinking of Batman's face as he was strapped to a gurney and hustled inside of Arkham.

"I wasn't happy. And then I was. But I knew I wasn't. Cats don't like dogs. I'm a dog. You're a cat." Bob flicked his cigarette against the wall where it bounced in a shower of sparkling ash. It came to rest near Selina's feet and she carefully crushed the butt beneath the toe of her high heeled foot.

"But sometimes they grow fond of each other. Neither knows the difference. When a dog grows up with a cat, sleeping together, eating together, seeing each other day in and day out, does the dog think it's a cat? Does the cat think it's a dog? Why would it not? All it sees is the other," remarked Selina. The thought, "Bats too," came unbidden into her mind and she discarded it easily. She was happy to have him out of her life, wasn't she?

"That's a good point, miss," finished Bob as he turned to leave. "But you might want to consider something else. Squirrels don't like cats either." He gave Selina a long, hard stare before leaving the interrogation room and headed back into Gothtopia.

Ann Nocenti has her own take on Gothtopia. Fuck how the other books are portraying it. Also, my favorite part is how she adds the "comma you" to the end of Catwoman's "What's going on?"

Chuck stared into the woman's bright green eyes, eyes that mirrored the confusion he'd been feeling for the last few years. It was the confusion, not so much the fear or the desire or the wearying wearing away of his edges from life on the streets, that finally led Chuck to shooting up. The world was too big; the people were too together. How did they do it? How does one accept the parameters of the society they have been forced to join by the mere chance of their birth? They make it through each day, doing the same things, seeing the same people, kissing the same children goodnight. Where does the motivation come from? So many decisions to be faced and choices to be made. Nobody ever told him how much harder it was to make his own way than to do what his parents had asked. Overwhelmed by the loss of limits, Chuck was paralyzed by indecision. It was much easier to shoot the junk into his veins and just let the misty cataracts of pure bliss drop over his vision and quiet the questions. And once he was hooked, he no longer had decisions to make. He had purpose. Get money for more dope. Get more dope. Shoot more dope. Check out. Repeat.

But then the world changed slightly. It wasn't very dramatic, really. The people still kept to their normal courses. They still went to work. They still ate at restaurants. They still held hands in public. But they stopped arguing. Nobody was in a rush. It was the patience of the people that first alerted Chuck that a subtle shift had come over the people of Gotham. And along with that patience, obliviousness. He found he could steal without repercussion. Anything he wanted was his to take. Until now. Until this lady staring confused into his eyes, her hand around his throat.

"Why aren't you asleep like the rest?" He heard the question again in his mind, the question she had asked that sent him spinning into his own mind, as if tackling him had set adrift in his blood some micro-fragments of the dope not yet processed by his brain. But things were clear now. Too clear. Too real.

"Because I'm real. That's how they can do it. That's how they get by! I'm real. They're simulations. Or automatons. But I...us!...we're real. We're real." The woman removed her hand from his throat and bit her lower lip, her eyes squinting nearly shut. He heard her whisper one word: "Batman." And then she was gone, disappearing gracefully down the alley like a sight he knows he's seen dozens of times before but couldn't quite place. Chuck stood up and dusted himself off, looking about him for the purse he dropped in the scuffle. It was halfway hidden behind a garbage can and as he reached down to pick it up, he startled a stray cat that had been busy with half a sandwich in the dark recesses of the alley. It hissed loudly and fled into the shadows. "A cat," murmured Chuck. That's what she had reminded him of as she fled. A cat.

"Of course an ex-vet would rig a few low-tech booby traps." This is why I always had to be careful when playing at my father's place.

As Selina lifted Puffy Jackets up off the floor, she thought to herself, "Something's seriously wrong with this butthole." She wasn't straining at all and she very rarely found herself capable of lifting a grown man up over her head with one hand. "Why are you so light, Gunther?"

"My local VA Hospital helped me to walk again after a spinal injury I received in The Great War. They hollowed my bones and made me light enough so that my damaged spine was able to support my weight. Because, as you know, the only thing keeping somebody with a damaged spine from walking is the weight." Catwoman nodded vigorously at the completely understandable and thoroughly ironclad medical explanation. She could hear his neckial bones beginning to crack from her grip, so she through him down into a chair so that she wouldn't hurt him. Puffy Jackets landed on the soft cushions in a spray of dust and the cracking of several bones. Blood sprayed across Catwoman's face as several of his hollow bones snapped and shot out from his skin, boring through muscle, ligaments, and skin like an apple corer through a piece of fruit. Probably an apple. Gunther now lay in the shadows, the lone light of his warehouse swinging on a long wire as lone warehouse lights are wont to do in dramatic situations. "You whore...er...The horror!" he whispered in profound ecstasy, thinking that if those were his last words, they would be remembered forever in their ambiguity and their truth.

"Are you okay, Puffy Jackets?" asked Catwoman as she licked his blood from her paw and bent forward to examine him, making sure that she didn't bend her knees and that her ass was pointing directly at where the camera would be if this were ever made into a movie. She made sure to spread her legs a little bit so that the slight, round bulge of her pudenda could be seen straining against the tight leather suit she wore. "That should put some teenagers in the seats," she thought. Puffy Jackets tried to answer but merely spat blood and tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his boner. He might not have had the same view as the nonexistent camera but that meant he was looking straight down her unzippered uniform.

Puffy Jackets didn't know it at the time, but his erection saved him by pooling most of his blood in his crotch, causing his other wounds to cauterize or whatever the actual medical term is where wounds scab over. But he still could not move because his bones were not set correctly or at all even. "My suit. My suit!" moaned Puffy Jackets truly hoping that he didn't die now because those last words weren't nearly as memorable as his previous last words. Catwoman slid Puffy Jackets into his armored bird suit where he let out a long sigh and passed out.

"Meet me tonight at the Gotham Zoo," demanded Catwoman. Puffy Jackets did not answer because he was practically dead and all the way unconscious. Catwoman grabbed him by the balls and squeezed until his eyes popped open and his face flushed darkly as the blood from his groinal blood sausage was distributed back throughout his body. "I said, 'Meet me tonight at the Gotham Zoo.'"

"Of course...er...the horror!" smiled Puffy Jackets, thankful to get his other last words back in time. Well, nearly his other words. Close enough. For added effect he also decided to mutter, "Rosebub!"

This scene feels like Ann Nocenti parodying herself! Nice work, Ann! I love it!

Martha was just about to cut into her steak when she caught it out of the corner of her eye. A band-aid. It was fluttering slowly down, then suddenly as it turned to the side, only to cut through the atmosphere once again, flatten out and slow down, spinning softly, around and around in a lazy circle. And then two more to her right. A few in front of her. And suddenly the entire room was filled with band-aids fluttering down from the ceiling like cherry blossoms. Mesmerized, she barely heard Wallace at the head of the table as he addressed the roof. She slowly glanced up, mouth slightly agape at what would have been a magical sight if her steak wasn't now covered in medical adhesives. Dropping from the skylight which had yet to be replaced for the fifth time this year, a woman in black leather and swimming goggles was swinging down to the table. Before Martha could chastise this intruder for her bad manners, the woman was slicing Martha's face with sharp claws. Martha ducked her head and tried to spin under the table but the fur on her stole caught the arm of her chair. She struggled to hide but her back, exposed from her low-cut dress, was instantly on fire from pain as the woman sliced and stung and poke. The other dinner guests were screaming and clawing for cover. It was complete chaos and Martha blacked out from fear and pain.

When she came to, Wallace was placing band-aids on the cuts on her back while Sarah was muttering inanely. "Why do you do this? Rob and terrorize people?" screamed Martha because this kind of rudeness really did demand an explanation.

"Salt and pepper, that's all a rare steak needs," the insane woman replied. It didn't make any sense. Was she just hungry? Was she upset at the way they were preparing dinner? Martha watched as the woman slid the rare meat over her tongue before sucking the blood from it, slurping down a long strip of white fat. The woman's face reminded Martha of something, somewhere long ago. Was it ecstasy? Pure bliss? Joy? They were emotions she once knew before appearance and social standing mattered above all else. It was a reminder that Martha had given up everything for security and for prosperity and for acceptance. But most of all, that look, that woman's look...it was a reminder of Johnny and the way he could make her shoot her hips to the ceiling, trying to force his tongue deeper into her as she came hard against his jaw, feeling her clit throbbing against the hardness of his upper lip, aching for his finger to be back inside of her, the finger that had slipped out of her ass when she thrust upward. And with this reminder of her passionate youth lost, Martha couldn't help but lash out at this stranger one more time.

"And on Valentine's Day? Don't you have any love in your life?" The woman merely licked the blood covered plate, desperately, like a cat cleaning the last of its master's cereal bowl. It wasn't meant to be erotic but Martha couldn't help seeing it that way. Some fire she had thought long burnt out had been reignited this night, thanks to this rude stranger and her odd behaviour. The woman set the plate down and gracefully slid from the top of the table. She brushed by Martha and Martha took a deep breath of her smell. Sweat and leather. Sex. Thoughtless, careless, spontaneous sex. Martha gasped slightly as she watched the roll of the woman's ass, steadily walking past the white tiger pelt on the wall.

"White tigers are rare. You have to be a real jerk to hunt, kill, and display one." And with that, the woman was gone, leaving Martha to think two final thoughts: "Wallace really is a jerk, isn't he?" and "Where can I find a young man at this time of night?"

Ladies and Gentlemen! Your 2014's Best Gotham Detectives!

Did I like cats? I don't know if I like cats. I wonder if Alvarez likes cats. He's a man. Men like dogs. Dogs are like men. Men are like cats. I don't think dogs like cats. Women are like men.

"Keyes. KEYES. Where'd you go there, hunh?" Alvarez is staring at me impatiently. Why do I keep losing it like this? I have to concentrate.

"My heart breaks sometimes. Is she an animal? Put her in the cages!" Whew. I think I pulled that off okay. Alvarez seems more interested in his doodles than what I'm saying. That's good. I can relax. Maybe think up something smart to say later. I wonder if I can work in Moby Dick. That sounds smart. Also I like his music a lot.

"Rabid dogs deserve to be shot. She's a rabid dog. Do I like dogs?" asks Alvarez. Do I answer him? I think he wants an answer. What if I just touch his hand? No! Police don't touch each other like that! This isn't kindergarten. "I am a detective!"

"Yes, yes you are, Alvarez. As am me. As me am? As I am! As am I?" Why do I get this way around Alvarez? It's like my tongue were wrapped around my brain, strangling the breath out of it. I know we're not a couple but I so want to be! That's probably why I get so nervous! It's because we've fucked in the evidence locker about a zillion times but I don't know if he loves me. But today is Valentine's Day! Maybe he'll propose soon!

"Keyes! KEYES."

"Hunh? Oh, what?" I glance down and notice he has his dick in his hand. "Oh. OH! Okay!" I drop my pants, turn around, and bend over the desk. Oh my god I hope he proposes!

"It's Valentine's Day, not Halloween," says the person in the Catbird suit to the person in the Bluebelle suit. Yes, it's Bluebelle. With an "e"!

"Why am I dressed like this?" thinks the Catwoman as she talks to the Batgirl dressed like Not the Batgirl. "Who am I? What has happened? Am I really happy? How many questions do I have to ask before this becomes a profound and philosophical moment meant to tear down the walls of my resistance? Why am I Catbird? Who is Catwoman? Has Puffy Jackets been telling the truth? Is Catbird a lie? Why do I need the lie? It seems to be very important to me. Does Batman's sweet, sweet loving have anything to do with my desire to leave Catwoman behind? Is battling my friends a metaphor for battling my inner demons and insecurities? Am I punching Batgirl to show that I've conquered my lack of confidence? Does kicking Condor mean I'm refusing to be an unlikable nobody? When I throw Talon to the ground, does that say I'm refusing to escape from the delusion of a happy life? When I kiss Batwoman deeply and passionately, does that mean I'm just living out a fantasy of the person typing this sentence? Why is Black Canary suddenly voiceless as we battle? Have I lost my own true voice?! Maybe I should just go home and take a nap now until all of this is over in Detective Comics #29!"

Puffy Jackets is Jonathan Crane! He's light and feather-boned because he's a Scarecrow! Oh my! It makes so much sense now! Except for the part where The Scarecrow would be trying to convince Catwoman she's living a delusion. Maybe he needs her help to rob something.

Catwoman #28 Rating: No change. At least it didn't take place in the Gotham Underground. I don't think I like the Gotham Underground.

Birds of Prey #28

I bet Condor's name is Swan and he's still boring.

If you missed last issue, you missed a real treat! Condor was all, "Who wants me on the team?! Everybody who wants me on the team raise their hands!" And Batgirl was all, "Yeah, I guess," and she raised her hand. And Strix was all, "...," and she raised her hand. Condor was, "Okay, okay! Great! But what about you, Black Canary! You matter most of all because I love you so much I want to tell you that my dick should be inside your vagina but that might come off as too strong and creepy so I'll just keep that to myself. Do you want me as a Bird of Prey?!" And Black Canary was all, "If a train were leaving New York at sixty miles per hour and another train were leaving Chicago at eighty miles per hour and they passed by each other in different tunnels in the middle of the night in the heart of the coldest winter of the century, how many fucks would I give if you were on the team? The answer is zero. I would give zero fucks." And Condor went "Cri! Cri! Cri!" It was so funny! I hope Black Canary breaks his heart every issue! He's such a jerk!

This issue is a fantasy issue that takes place in the fantasy realm of Gothtopia so Black Canary might actually be nice to Condor. Which will be great because then he'll get his hopes up again so that she can dash them upon the rocks of brutal heartache! Black Canary is so lucky she gets to do that! As The Bible says, "Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."

Wait. That's in The Bible? That's pretty fucking cruel, right? Not that I'm agreeing or disagreeing with the sentiment in that if you've been enslaved by certain people, only you know if you'll ever be so angry you want to grab their babies by the feet and smash their tiny heads against the rocks. Because fuck the babies, right? The babies are innocent and all, sure. But can you imagine how hurt the parents of those babies will be seeing their darling children's brains exploding in halos of mist and grisly horror? So I'm not incredulous that perhaps someone in that situation might commit such an atrocity. What's amazing is that people often call The Bible a rulebook for life. So now I know when it's okay to dash baby's heads against rocks. Thanks, The Holy Bible! I bet this is just one example too. It didn't say this is the only time smashing baby's heads will make you happy. How long do you have to be in captivity to justify your actions? What if you're just stuck in a really long queue at the DMV? That's kind of like being in captivity! Or what about your McDonald's manager's new baby? Working there is practically like being enslaved? Fuck man. I'm starting to rethink this whole living life according to morality and ethics derived from empathy and sympathy with my fellow human beings! If I follow The Holy Fucking Bible, I actually have at least one legitimate reason where I can break baby heads! Fuck yes!

Owls are hunters so Strix gets to be Artemis! I would have called her Bubo.

Condor's name is not Condor and it is not Swan. It is Eagle. That is terrible. He doesn't deserve to be named after a majestic bird. His name should be Dodo because then he'd be extinct! He tells Artemis and Bluebelle how something really important is missing in his life and I can't help but snicker at his broken heart that he doesn't even know is broken right now. Oh man! Just wait until he remembers that Black Canary doesn't give a shit about him!

Speaking of Black Canary, she appears even though she refused to leave Kurt Lance's side last issue. Her name is Warbler because she's a blur when she goes to war. Or maybe it's because she makes an annoying sound with her throat. It also could be because she has Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Ugh, Eagle. Stop touching her all of the time! She doesn't like you!

I need to stop thinking about Condor for a second because my blood pressure monitor is beeping erratically. So earlier this week, I went to see Stand By Me at the Laurelhurst Theater here in Portland. It was nice to see it in its original format since it's one of those movies that I enjoy enough that if I catch it on television, I'll watch it even though it's one of those movies that really doesn't work when edited for television. I mention this because I just spent the last two hours watching The Bad News Bears (the original) on network television because that's another movie that I can't help but watch even when presented in a format where it just doesn't fucking work. Although I'm quite surprised that a bunch of thin-skinned mothers haven't somehow gotten legislation through that would outlaw showing the film on television. It is such a remnant of the 1970s that it fills my heart with joy and, at the same time (because I'm a complex human being), loss for being too young to truly experience the greatness of the Seventies. Buttermaker drinks and drives constantly. Kids hangout of cars without seatbelts. The kids celebrate with beers at the end. Swearing and more swearing. What a classic. It's also great to see a young Rorschach helping out his teammates. When the dickhead coach of the Yankees grabs his arm and tries to throw him out of the baseball field, I wanted him to growl out, "Even in the face of Armageddon, I shall not compromise in this." And then he'd go over and join the Bad News Bears. Or break the coach's fingers. One of those.

Okay, I'm calm now. Although I may have to watch my DVD of The Bad News Bears tomorrow. A network television viewing just isn't satisfying enough.

Since this is Gothtopia and everybody is hallucinating, maybe Warbler is actually a rabid goat! Eagle is fucking a rabid goat! What a jerk!

Movie night is interrupted by the Bat-signal for some reason. Gotham is the most crime free city in America right now, so why would Batman need The Wings of Truth? Perhaps he keeps them on call to wax his Batmobile.

The problem winds up being Batman himself. If you've read Detektif Comics #27, you'll remember that Batman remembered that Gotham was a lousy, crime-ridden hellhole and he turned on everyone. The Wings of Truth help lock him away and then they head back home to decide on which stupid Action-Romance they're going to watch.

To do what?

While Batman is incarcerated, The Wings of Truth spend their time whistling cheerful tunes and hitting the roller rink every Tuesday Night for One Dollar Rental Night. But eventually Batman escapes from Arkham with Poison Ivy and The Wings of Truth have a real job to do!

Except they only do that job for a few minutes when, in the middle of the fight, Bluebelle tells Eagle, Warbler, and Artemis that they're help isn't needed and that they should go home. So they do. I get it! Bluebelle just couldn't stand listening to Eagle fawn all over Warbler anymore. I would have sent them home as well, even if Batman was busy breaking my spine. "Go! Go! OW HOLY FUCKING SHIT! I mean, get out of here! I'm okay!"

Back at the dumpster they've been living in that they think is an apartment, The Wings of Truth eat some rat feces and nod off to sleep. Warbler is awakened by a Ra's al Ghul shooting a load of serum in her face and then offering her a deal concerning the story that Birds of Prey was trying to tell before everybody fucking started to hallucinate.

Oh. I guess Warbler isn't a rabid goat. Too bad.

Black Canary tricks Condor and Strix into leaving the city so that they're no longer influenced by Crane's drugs. I don't know why she brought Condor when he was taking so many liberties with her while they were all deluded. I don't really like Kurt Lance either but I hope Ra's al Ghul heals him so that he and Condor can constantly squabble over Black Canary's affections while looking like two huge douches. Eventually Batgirl also joins the team on Mother Eve's boat so that they can all get back to the previous story about the war between Mother Eve and Ra's al Ghul. Also, Black Canary gives up leadership of The Birds of Prey so that Batgirl can lead. That's just stupid. Just break up the fucking team! Why do The Birds of Prey even need to exist?

Birds of Prey #28 Rating: No change. I don't feel like I should count this issue against the regular book since it was mostly just fantasy with a few moments squeezed in so that Christy Marx could at least partially continue the story arc she was on when Gothtopia interrupted. I guess I don't mind the interruption though since this book has yet to find its feet after Swierczynski got it drunk behind the bleachers and had his way with it. And by "had his way with it," I mean "wrote a bunch of shitty stories with characters that kept following leads that went nowhere and forgetting why they were doing anything whenever a new plot point came along which they followed because they had no motivations of there own."

Detective Comics #28

In Which The Moon Crashes Down Into Earth

This is the story of Gothtopia. It is a city that has forgotten how to appreciate a good joke. When somebody says, "What did the snail say while riding on the back of the turtle?", somebody would say, "That is offensive to snails" or "That joke is too aggressive" or "You are being ableist" or "You'd better check your turtle privilege." In this new Gotham, if you are not entirely serious about a serious subject, you are taken to task for it. In Gothtopia, intellect is measured by how harshly you can criticize somebody else and how often you can deconstruct the most innocuous texts and find offense in them. In this perfect city, young people know everything and old people have no idea of all the great social strides the young are making and have never thought or fought for or acted on any of them before ever. In Gothtopia, everyone claims to be harder on themselves than on other people. And maybe that is true. Perhaps it is all true. Maybe Gothtopia is a better place for all of those things. But Gothtopians still often miss the jokes even if they don't realize why they can't stop being offended and why they can't stop perceiving flaws in everybody else's words and actions and, of course, why does Gothtopia have the highest suicide rate on New Earth? Why, Batman, why? Why have you not stopped that from happening, Batman? And I am not letting you off the hook either, Catbirdlady! But I think I know how to help! I know!

You need to find the joke that will make the whole world laugh! But do not accidentally tell the joke that makes the whole world cry! Because then you will have to cry to get the whole world to laugh! Which doesn't seem right, really. Especially in Gothtopia. Please do not laugh at the misfortunes of others, no matter how many banana peels they have slipped upon. It is not funny. Although if Batman put the banana peels there and slipped on them himself so that people will laugh, I think then it is okay to laugh. But the joke would be ruined if he pointed out that he was putting the banana peels there for a specific purpose to slip upon and fall down and look hurt for comedy. Jokes are very hard to tell! Especially in Gothtopia. But if anybody can think of a joke that will get the whole world to laugh and then to cry and then to live, it will be The Batman! He is good at...no, wait. He is not good at jokes. But he is good at saving people and the people need a good joke so he will be good at jokes this time! Go Batman! Go! Think of the best joke that does not offend anybody but is still very, very funny! Save Gothtopia, Batman! Make it worse than it seems because the truth is better than the lie which shall be seen as the truth but is in fact a lie!

What I am trying to say is that Gothtopia seems happy but it is not really. And false happiness is worse than real suffering because it keeps people from being able to actually end the suffering to be truly happy. Also, let us get to some jokes already.

Ha ha! This is a pretty funny joke because in Gothtopia, Batman is the only sane person but he is in a straight jacket while in Gotham, Batman is a crazy person but he is free to run loose at night! Ha ha! But not many people will see this joke because he is in a padded room and not on television.

Batman is going to have a very tough time with this job because it was his friends that put him in the mental institution for wanting to tell jokes that are funny. They said, "You just want to be able to tell Polish Jokes without anybody getting angry!" And Batman said, "No! No! That is not it at all! I will not tell jokes about African-Americans in boats with priests or rabbis walking into bars with Mexicans! Do not think all jokes are bad jokes! Please do not throw out the satire with the bathwater!" But Batman's friends said, "Oh no! You are just trying to tell us your offensive jokes are actually smart jokes but we will not fall for it. We will criticize your attempts to criticize Gothtopia because you have said some very insensitive things and it is not right, no matter how you meant it or what your intent was!" And Batman said, "Okay! Okay! I do not want to fight with you because when I fight with people they invariably wind up with very high hospital bills. I will go to joke prison for now! Maybe there I can think up a good joke that will convince you that something is very wrong with Gothtopia!" And Batman's friends said, "Now you are thinking rationally, Batman. You must go get help now with your horrible sense of humor."

"That is indeed troubling. The patient should see what we want him to see."

Batman's doctors need to cure Batman before he can come up with a punchline to his joke. Also before he can come up with a joke that needs a punchline. It is taking Batman longer than expected because he can't stop thinking up Dead Baby jokes. "What is the difference between Gothtopia and a pile of dead babies?" thinks Batman before he can stop himself. "No! NO! I am not in third grade any longer! Why am I thinking of Dead Baby Jokes?" Batman struggles against his restraints and says out loud, "How many dead babies can you fit in a blender?" He snickers and giggles and tries to calm down. "Those are not funny jokes that people will laugh at!" he thinks. "Those are unfunny jokes that children tell each other because they are still processing the ideas of death and aging and the possible pitfalls of their upcoming puberty! They are not proper jokes for adults to tell other adults unless those adults are high as fuck!" The doctors watch Batman struggle as the Chief Neurosurgeon, Professor Pyg, says, "Oh! Oh! I know the answer to Batman's blender question! I know right down to the ounce!"

Dr. Jonathan Crane heads up the Wellness Facility for Fine Tuning Senses of Humor and he is a very busy man. So busy that he is not able to take off Batman's Cowl and discover that Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, funniest man in Gotham. I think he is the funniest man because he is Batman's alter ego and Batman is the unfunniest man in Gotham. If Crane had done his due diligence, he would have realized the danger that his Gothtopia was now in! He had let Bruce Wayne into his facility! Now Bruce Wayne was free to think up a joke from the inside! That is the most dangerous kind of joke there is! The kind of joke that pierces the heart of injustice and brings down regimes in a single punchline!

As Batman is left alone in his cell, he begins to piece together his joke. He thinks critically about the way it must be crafted. It must draw in the listener as if they were listening to a true thing. The seemingly true thing must be simple and it must also be a lie that everybody has accepted as truth. He must state it as a fact in a very casual manner. It must go something like this: "What is up with airline food?" And people will think, "Yes. What is up with that?" And then Batman will tell them the truth about airline food in a very funny way that makes them laugh and nod their heads and say, "Yes! Yes! That is exactly right!" But his joke must not be about airline food but about something more meaningful. And that is the hard part for The Batman. What is the most meaningful thing he can make his joke about to prove that the people of Gothtopia are not happy at all! They are actually scared and miserable!

Hurry, The Batman! Hurry!

Earlier that day, Catbird visited Batman after she had suffered a severe head injury. She must have since that is the only way to explain how she was glad to be rid of Batman over in Catbird #27 but now she is telling Batman that she misses being with him. Hopefully it will not take her too many issues of her own comic book to recover from her head injury and be written by Sholly Fisch. Get better soon, Catbird! Everybody misses you! We miss us.

Batman needs to come up with his punchline tonight because he learned that he will be having brain surgery in the morning. The regular treatment for altering a sense of humor (by keeping a person locked up with no actual treatment at all) has failed and Dr. Crane has decided surgical correction would have the greatest chance for a successful cure. Brain surgery will be hard to conduct through the Bat-cowl though! And Batman does not want anybody finding out that he is really Bruce Wayne, so he would like to avoid the brain surgery if he can, even if it is going to be given to him for free. If he is going to come up with a good punchline, he is going to need help. Too bad his funniest friend, The Joker, had to go and throw himself off of an underground waterfall. Although his punchlines usually wind up in pretty dark territory and Batman does not think he needs a dark joke this time. He needs a very funny joke! So funny that it will cause the citizens of Gothtopia to remember they should be sad and scared most of the time! Enough with the fake smiles and phoney camaraderie! It is sickening to the stomach in the way that too many cupcakes are sickening to the stomach!

I know it is hard to believe that you could have too many cupcakes but, believe me, it is a true thing. It is also a sad thing because I would like to eat more cupcakes.

Since The Batman's funniest friend is unavailable for comment, he must find his next funniest friend: Poison Ivy. She is naturally funny if you get that pun! She is so funny that she punches Batman for rescuing her! Ha ha! You are mistaken, Poison Ivy! That is not what Batman meant by punchline! Although it is a pun, so it is kind of funny! But it is also too aggressive and nobody likes humor that is aggressive. Batman needs a careful blend of gentle and in your face humor. The kind of humor that plants display when they give you a rash or make your head stuffed up. That is funny to plants!

That is right! Perfect! Gentle and in your face just like I said! Ha ha!

With Poison Ivy's help, Batman comes up with a very good joke which he will tell Gotham. Then Gotham will see that Gothtopia isn't a shining city on a hill for the rest of the world to emulate. It is full of its own problems and dysfunctions and intellectual dishonesty. Gothtopia may have solved some problems but at the expense of ignoring the problems its solutions have caused. Currently when yet another citizen destined for Arkham points out the problems with Gothtopia, the Gothtopians respond with prepackaged, broad arguments to shut them down rather than looking at the specific situation and the individuals involved. These people are shuttled off to Arkham where they must stay until they learn to play by Gothtopia's rules no matter how ridiculous or arbitrary. The Gothtopian Ideal may be a good ideal to grow towards but it cannot be forced by madmen and evil geniuses and Professor Pyg (I don't know if that monster fits into any prepackaged categories!).

But before Batman can escape Arkham, he must get Killer Croc to laugh! That will be a difficult job, Batman! It has never been done before! Batman says, "How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail?" Killer Croc says, "By killing Batman!" Batman says, "That is not the answer, Waylon. That is not even funny. That is aggressive and you should not be that way!" After Batman says that, he knocks out Killer Croc because, let's face it, Killer Croc is not going to laugh at anything. But that was not the last hurdle for Batman to hurdle if he is to escape Arkham! He must also make his friends laugh! And not just his normal friends that he makes laugh all the time, but creepy scarecrow versions of his friends!

Oh boy. That joke Bruce and Pamela came up with had better be a laugh riot.

Detective Comics #28 Rating: +2 Ranking. Let's face it. I never claimed to be a master of subtlety!

Catwoman #27

Am I the only one at least partially disturbed with Catwoman, a person Bruce loves to fuck, dressed similarly to Robin? Is that what Gothtopia really is? A place that doesn't judge a man for wanting to fuck his young sidekick?

For anyone that doesn't know, Gothtopia is this story where The Scarecrow and Mad Hatter and various other Gotham Crazies have drugged the entire city so that they believe everything is going swimmingly. "Going swimmingly" is how phys ed teachers of the fifties used to describe their alternative sex life when they didn't want to use words like "domination" or "heavy leather ball gag" or "genital mutilation." I learned that from a Final Jeopardy question. Anyway, some citizens have been breaking out of the drug induced paradise and been killing themselves. A few superheroes have been breaking through the spell and not killing themselves because they need to save everybody from living a beautiful, happy, harmonious life.

In Gothtopia, Catwoman has become Batman's new partner and goes by the name of Catbird. Who wants to bet against her being called "Cat-Turd" at some point in this comic book? Because I've got twenty bucks on it!

If somebody were to really take that bet, I'd probably lose my money. I forget that just because I think of it and that I would put it in a story, that doesn't mean a writer that has to answer to a bunch of editors would wind up doing it.

Ann Nocenti titles this issue "Happiness is a Cold Gun" because of reasons. After reading the issue, I may very well learn why she titled it that. But I've also learned not to put too much effort into understanding anything written by Ann Nocenti. She's the person that wrote a Green Arrow story where a woman juggling flaming batons kept shouting advice at him. Now, that could have really been happening even though it's unbelievable that she would have kept encountering Green Arrow again and again. Does it make more sense to think of her as a guardian angel or a magic pixie? Maybe. I don't know! Like I said, I don't think about it. I just read it and let it wash over me like five day old diarrhea.

Gothtopia. Where sexuality isn't a spectrum; it's a Fudge Brownie With Walnuts Party and everybody is coming. On the brownies.

The issue opens with Batman and Catbird catching a couple of criminals on the rooftop. It's possible (and I'm going to do just a tiny amount of thinking about Nocenti's writing here. I know, I know. It's a bad habit and I keep falling back into it) that Ann Nocenti has no ability to comprehend the assignment she's been given. Gotham City has no crime. Everyone believes it's a warm, peaceful place. But here are two criminals committing crime and aware that everybody else is acting goofy. Not only that, the police show up and point out that crime is down 99% and the only crime left is suicide. Is that even a crime? Is Attempted Suicide a crime? If attempted suicide is not, why would successful suicide even be a crime since you don't have a live perp left to convict? Anyway, it's pointed out that no crime is happening while they're arresting two criminals for committing crime. Is it Ann Nocenti that's fucking up or am I to believe that everybody is so out of it that they don't have any clue what they're doing from moment to moment? And should I believe that these two criminals have broken free from the Scarecrow's toxin? So far the only ones to do that are geniuses like Batwing and Batman! Somebody keep an eye on these two evil genius burglars!

More sexy orgasmic kissing. I always figured Batman and Catwoman to be the type to come at the same time.

Catbird's friend, Selina Kyle (wink wink!), goes to the police station later to help counsel people who have attempted suicide. Once again, Ann Nocenti has a character mentioning that "a suicide attempt is, technically, a crime." Fucking bullshit. This is more of that "crocodiles prefer rotten meat" bullshit that Nocenti keeps pulling out of her ass. Does Ann Nocenti know anything about fact checking? Lord Google does a pretty good job if you ask him politely and turn on Safe Search so you don't get distracted. I know she does research for her stories because she always over uses lingo whenever she has a character involved in a new pastime or career. Half the time she doesn't even get the lingo right but she seems to feel like she's gotten the job done well if she can manage to stick as much of it into the conversation as possible. So now she's told me that crocodiles prefer rotten meat which is a lie. She's told me that cats can't swim which is a lie. And now she's saying that attempted suicide is technically a crime. Which is a lie. I'd be willing to blame Selina Kyle for having her facts wrong but the police earlier categorized suicide as the only crime left in Gotham.

My point is this: you literally do get dumber reading an Ann Nocenti story!

Anyway, Selina Kyle is going to get to the bottom of the rampant wave of Gotham Suicides! If she just asks the right questions and the people just tell her nonsensical answers, she'll crack this case wide open! Just like a Unicorn Detective!

Why isn't this an AMC Series?

Before Catbird has to join up with the Birds of a Feather and Bluebelle and Flying Fox, she receives one last call from a person worried about his friend. The caller purposefully misunderstands her advice and hangs up. And then Selina goes on with her life as we jump forward in time to Batman's incarceration in Crane's Health and Wellness Center.

I should also mention, because I'm a petty bitch, that Bluebelle is spelled "Bluebell" in this issue.

And then this is Catbird's reaction when the man she hasn't been able to keep her lips off of during the first few pages of this comic is put away for having a psychotic break:

"Welp, no time to wait and see what's wrong with Bruce. I guess it's time to reenter the dating pool!"

Words. Words are not enough. I'd like to explain how awful Ann Nocenti's writing is. I really would like to be able to express just exactly how terribly she puts the words next to the other words and then adds some more words until their whole purpose, as words, becomes hidden in their sudden unwordiness. No matter how many sentences she forms, her ideas remain inchoate. The ideas never venture forth from the primordial soup to become stories. They just kind of flop around, a mess of protein strands that never quite become life. And she has me torturing metaphors in my attempt to understand how she can be so ununderstandable!

I'm not good enough at the wordsmithing to explain how bad Ann Nocenti's writing is. That last paragraph was my attempt and it was a sad miscarriage. Luckily you don't need me to see how horrible Nocenti is! Let me allow her to display her skill. Exhibit A:

Thank Jesus on High for the person that invented the trash can! Whatever did we do with all of our stinky things before then?

That night, Selina Kyle has a dream about her former self. She remembers that she's a thief. Oh! And here's where we get to the part where Ann Nocenti did her research to find out the names of various types of criminals! Like wheelmen and safecrackers and thieves and pickpockets and confidence men and escape artists and hackers and hustlers! Wait. Are escape artists actually criminals? I suppose she means people that escape from prisons and not people like Talon and Houdini!

Anyway, Selina seems to know who she is in her dreams but she keeps denying it. She wakes up and gets back to being Catbird until she meets the guy she gave the bad advice to earlier. He's a man in bird armor. Is he Catwoman's opposite: Birdman?! And when she meets him, she begins to see the real Gotham flicker in and out in much the same way Batman and Batwing did before they broke the Scarecrow's spell.

This guy's name is Steeljacket. I've never heard of him but apparently he's the second best burglar in Gotham but he seems to always try to steal the things that Catwoman has just stolen because he's, presumably, an idiot. And now he's trying to wake up Catwoman so she can become the best burglar in Gotham again? I guess he just can't handle success.

Anyway, by telling Catwoman the truth and letting her beat the shit out of him, Catwoman somehow overcomes The Scarecrow's toxin. Batman and Batwing needed drugs to do that but then they're weak assholes. Now that Catwoman sees the truth, maybe next month she'll turn to Steeljacket and ask, "Who the fuck are you?"

Catwoman #27 Rating: No change. Does anybody like Ann Nocenti? I want to hear from that one reader that defended Ann Nocenti a long time ago and said that he thought her dialogue was like David Lynch's dialogue! Can you still defend her after this god-awful run on Catwoman? Can you?! Dare you?!