Catwoman Annual #2

Fuck. It's fucking Annual Season. I might as well be flushing my money straight down the toilet.

As far as annuals go, I suspect this one will be more entertaining than most of the Annuals DC has put out since The New 52 began. I've enjoyed the first few issues of Catwoman written by Genevieve Valentine even if I could barely understand them. They're filled with high minded ideas and historical quotes and characters having believable dialogue and meaningful interactions. And with Batman on the cover (kind of), maybe there will finally be some fucking in this thing!

I bet this issue begins with a poem by Gertrude Stein!

"CHICKEN.
Pheasant and chicken, chicken is a peculiar third.
CHICKEN.
Alas a dirty word, alas a dirty third alas a dirty third, alas a dirty bird.
CHICKEN.
Alas a doubt in case of more go to say what it is cress. What is it. Mean. Why. Potato. Loaves.
CHICKEN.
Stick stick call then, stick stick sticking, sticking with a chicken. Sticking in a extra succession, sticking in."

And that will totally set up the issue! What could the chicken represent? Or the sticking sticks? I think I know what the dirty bird will be!

I don't know why I scanned this picture. Nobody is fucking.

Let me skim through this annual really quickly to find the parts where Batman lectures Catwoman and treats her like a little girl. Unless he's horny and decides to treat her like a grown ass woman. Has anybody else gotten the feeling that Batman doesn't know how to have a mature relationship with an adult woman?

Valentine's first quote, which is usually way over my head because they're never by Edward Packard or R.A. Montgomery, is from Sun Tzu's The Art of War. I bet that's the level of quote I can understand! I may not have ever fought in a war and never been in a real fist fight (although I have completely spazzed out on people, bashed people in the head with my skateboard, and brought a knife to stab a bully at the bowling alley once) but how hard can a war quote be to understand?

I don't get it.

Couldn't the quote have been something easy to understand like "To kill your enemy is to defeat the day; to kill yourself is to defeat eternity." No wait, I don't understand that one either. And I made that one up!

Actually, I think I understand the quote! It's like tennis! To not lose, you must avoid unforced errors. And to win, you must take advantage of your opponent's unforced errors! Is that close enough?

Have I mentioned yet that this story is about the new Catwoman, Eiko Hasigawa? It's about how she once hunted Catwoman because Catwoman ruined one of her big scores one night. Cats are such assholes. They ruin everything. Especially when they make you love them for fifteen years and then die like a selfish bastard. Jerks!

One night while hunting Catwoman, Eiko gets a glimpse of her face. But she never sees Catwoman again after that. Until Selina Kyle suddenly appears leading the Calabrese family.

Look! Look! John McCrea is doing more New 52 artwork! Eee!

Eiko's father sends her out to gather more territory for the Hasigawa family while the Calabrese family are busy building relationships and being careful not to rock too many boats. So Eiko decides to take over the role of Catwoman and visit a gang called The Sons of Forster Lane. They sound like a book club.

There's another quote that's probably from Sun Tzu as well! "Energy may be likened to the bending of a crossbow; decision, to the releasing of a trigger." That's war advice? That's just statements of fact! They aren't even metaphors! Energy is built up in the bending of a crossbow! And releasing a trigger is a decision! Is this the kind of advice that fools give to appear wise? Or vice versa, maybe?

Eiko manages to screw up getting the Sons of Forster Lane territory on purpose. She's really good at pretending to not know how to play games! It's her strategy! She probably learned it from The Pillow Book because Sun Tzu is always going on about defeating your enemies by not defeating yourself and crap like that. I don't think he ever said, "To lose against your enemies every time is to win against them in the end."

As Selina Kyle tries to legitimize the Calabrese family and end the chaos and the feuding of the various crime families of Gotham, Eiko tries to play her father to minimize bloodshed and violence in the Hasigawa family. She knows she is being trained to lead but does not have the ruthlessness necessary to make hard decisions concerning people she cares about. So she stalls and manipulates and tarries and runs around as Catwoman. I think she learned about stalemates from watching Wargames! That's the only war strategy I know! Is that Sun Tzu as well? "The only way to win is not to play the game."

And then one night, Eiko, as Catwoman, runs into Batman. Fuckfight? Please?

Fighting? Yes please. But only the fuck variety!

Catwoman heads home only to find that her father has had her cousin Ken killed for being useless. She'd been trying to protect him all issue and her father finally got tired of it and used his death to punish her. But now that her father has taken the only thing he knows about that matters to her, he now has nothing to use against her. The only thing he's done is pushed her further away and she wasn't even that close to him to begin with. It's time for Eiko to figure out how to become friends with Selina Kyle!

Catwoman Annual #2 Rating: All of this takes place before Eiko and Selina first meet so I really should dig up the other Valentine Catwoman's and read them again with this story in mind. But that would mean shoving Pelafina off of my lap and moving everything off of my comic book boxes and digging through the boxes to find the past issues and spending time rereading things I've already read. That sounds like a lot of work and/or things I just don't want to do! So I'll just appreciate this story for what it was and go rewrite the scene where Eiko and Batman meet on the rooftop. Does Batman keep whip cream in his utility belt? What about Ben Wa balls? Anal beads?

Catwoman #29

I can't believe she stole the Champagne Bucket's wallet. She's a master!

God damn you, DC! I just found a new project that I was really excited about! I called it "Scenes From Ann Nocenti's Catwoman." I would take one of her barely comprehensible panels and rewrite it into a longer piece of all text fiction. I was also thinking that maybe each piece could really use a nice black and white illustration to go with it! But visual art isn't really my cup of sake. Although I did once do a 24 Hour Comic and, coincidentally enough, it sort of starred Catwoman!

Click on the image to read, and then reblog, the entire comic.

Oh well! I guess I could always dig out my old Catwoman issues for "Scenes From Ann Nocenti's Catwoman." It should probably have its own Tumblr as well.

I guess I should look on the cup is half bright side of things! An issue of Catwoman written by somebody other than Nocenti! There's no way it could be worse. Seriously. The physical laws of the universe will not allow for an issue of Catwoman not written by Nocenti to be worse than an issue of Catwoman written by Nocenti. I've done the math. Or the science. Maybe both!

When people describe some piece of news as both good and bad, this is that.

I know the people that are always looking for drama are going to interpret the above caption as me saying I'm happy there is a guest writer but sad that it's Sholly Fisch. You know what? Go fuck the way you see the world. Fuck it one last time and throw out its number. Because not everything is about drama! The real reason I said it's good news is that we have a different writer! The bad news is that it's only a guest writer which means Ann Nocenti will be back. I'm sure most people on the internet read it that way because most people on the internet understand the dangers of Ann Nocenti with a comic book script. But if you read it the other way, calm down. Take a breath, Sholly Fisch's mother. I wasn't taking a poke at your son.

Oh fuck. I hope Sholly Fisch's mother is still alive! Nobody tell me one way or the other so I can continue on not feeling like an asshole. At least not for that!

Currently, Selina Kyle is crashing a wealthy party for Taylor Pharmaceuticals and talking to herself as if she were her own audience.

She might be talking to her breasts.

Every now and then, I have to mention how much I dislike this use of Narration Boxes. It's like the main character is telling the story to somebody somewhere in the future (or simply directly to the reader which is even more jarring). She's obviously talking to somebody else by her reaction of "No, no." And she's speaking from a place in the future as a narrator that already knows the outcome of the story. But that omniscient shit kind of flip flops back and forth to thoughts in the present that really should be thought bubbles. It's obviously a method of telling a story that's been brought over from scads of first person account pieces of literature. Nothing wrong with those but I feel comic books should be their own medium. And when they borrow from movies to try to be like movies and borrow from books to try to be like books and then just cram them all together in what should be a story told in the brevity of the NOW-space, it just comes across as a work of art that wants to be another work of art. Comics have a kind of thoughtful immediacy to them. Unlike a movie which takes place at breakneck speed through the now, a comic book can extend moments and fill empty spaces. It takes place in a world where action and words have differing timetables. That should be seen as a strength instead of an awkward byproduct. And unlike a book which often takes place in the past tense, the comic, even when flashing back, continues to take place in the present tense. We see the action as it unfolds instead of relying on a subjective narrator retelling the actions of a story which already happened. So when these Narration Boxes are used like a book, they fuck up the immediacy of the story in favor of trying to be more like a work of literature.

I think these Narration Boxes telling the story can work! They've been used in that way in places although I can only think of the first issue of Mister Terrific offhand where the Narration Boxes actually were Michael Holt telling a story from his past. Mostly, I've gotten used to the convention. I don't often bring it up because I accept it as the current trend in comic book writing. But occasionally, like now, I decide to express my completely and utterly objective opinion on the matter.

Back to the story, Taylor Pharma has been bought out by Wayne Enterprises because they invented a chemotherapy drug with no side effects called Mister 40. That sounds like a super villain! Is it some guy in a leather gimp suit sitting in a recliner? Then somebody that needs chemo walks into the room and sits on Mister 40's lap for an hour or so, uncomfortably ignoring his erection pressing up against their buttocks?

Oh! I'm going to be Mister 40 for Halloween!

Catwoman has come to the party to steal Mister 40! This is going to get steamy!

Apparently Pat Olliffe and Tom Nguyen's Catwoman has severe hip dysplasia. You don't often hear about that in cats but since Selina is a catwoman, I'll allow it.

Catwoman makes it all the way to Mister 40 so that I can be disappointed. It isn't a dirty jerk in a leather gimp suit at all. It's just a small phial of bullshit medicine with no side effects. That's what makes it bullshit! All medicine has side effects! Even the main thing the advertisers tell you it's good for is a side effect! It all depends on how you look at it! If you smoke pot to get high, suppressing nausea is a side effect! But if you take it to suppress nausea, getting fucking balls high is a side effect! You know what I have noticed on some of those bullshit medicine commercials? You know the ones for made up shit that people will tell me isn't made up because they've bought into it? They've begun touting them as curing symptoms. You know what actually needs to be cured? The thing causing the symptoms! The symptoms are a fucking warning sign of impending doom, assholes! You don't want to obfuscate the symptoms just so you can go back to living with some disease eating up your guts without pain. The pain is there to say, "Hey fuckwit! Something is eating up your guts!"

Here's a good example for everybody that has one of those things those fucking medicine commercials tells you you might have: Viagra. I'm not going to name any others because everybody has something and they'll hate me for telling them they're just Munchausening up the room. So let's just talk about Viagra because we all know what bullshit that is. Impotence is a major symptom for several things that can be seriously wrong with the body. One of those is heart disease! So when you can't get a fucking erection, that could be a symptom! Just popping a Viagra so you can pop a boner doesn't make the reason for the impotence go away. We live in a country where there's just too much money to be made with pharmaceuticals to not sell any fucking thing made in a lab that can be wedged into a supposed cure. "Hey, this pill stops shaking when you're dying of hypothermia! Put it on the market to cure 'Whole Body Shaking Syndrome!'" You can make up more of your own stupid examples because I'm tired of writing about this now.

Oh yeah! Catwoman sets off an alarm. Probably because of that severe hip dysplasia. She should take some medication for that!

A security guard tries to stop Catwoman but she throws some other pharmaceutical in his face to distract him.

Too bad it was Adrenaline 17! Side effects: inverted penis/everted vagina.

Catwoman tries to escape in the chaos caused by The Incredulous Hulk but she fails. Not because she couldn't slip out while the monster kills lots of civilians but because she would feel a little bit bad about being the cause of all those civilian deaths. So while everybody else slips out (and by "slips out," I mean "stampedes like a bunch of motherfuckers"), Catwoman taunts Mr. Innie.

The nerdy creator of Mister 40 stops Teenie Weenie with a bunch of sedatives and that's when the comic book catches up to the opening page where Catwoman is crashing through a window followed by dozens of bullets. So her heist was successful but it wasn't much of a professional burgle. In and out without anybody noticing should be the goal. I think Catwoman has a fire raging in her loins and she's trying to attract the attention of Batman to hose it down.

"Success! Vagina don't fail me now! Unless it's one of those other nights and then anus don't fail me now!"

The big twist is that Batman is the buyer. And he wasn't as concerned with securing Mister 40 as he was getting Adrenaline 17 destroyed. He also set off the alarms that alerted everyone to Catwoman. And he erased the research data on Adrenaline 17. In the end, Catwoman doesn't mind because Batman put her at risk. And that means Batman owes her big time. Next time they get in a fuckfight, it's going to be all about the cunnilingilism.

Catwoman #29 Rating: +2 Ranking because the dialogue made sense! And Catwoman was doing a burglary job instead of spelunking. Although if Wayne Enterprises just bought out this pharmaceutical company, it seems like an easier way to get rid of Adrenaline 17 is to order all of the researchers and technicians to stop researching and technicianing it. I'm sure Bruce Wayne could have gone in with a nice tall Scotch, looking over the computers. Then he could have drunkenly spilled his alcohol directly on the part of the computer that remembered the Adrenaline 17 composition. That's how computers work, right? That can be done, right? Oh! I think I'm going to write a 007 script now! I have a great idea about Bond seducing a super market checkout robot! After he jizzes in the change receptacle, the computer will forget the price of Cheez-Its.

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.

Batwoman #25

Dammit. I just realized I'm not going to get the end of the Batman/Batwoman battle. Stupid Zero Year.

When I was a young, lovesick pup, I would walk to Junior High with this refrain stuck in my head:

"Once upon a time I was falling in love, now I'm only falling apart.
Nothing I can do. Total eclipse of the heart.
Once upon a time there was light in my life, now there's only love in the dark.
Nothing I can say. Total eclipse of the heart."

It has nothing to do with love now, just life, but I feel this way again. I know, deep down, that I just don't care enough about my business to keep it from eventually falling apart. I'm not a business person. But I somehow have to find it within myself to make it work so that I can keep enjoying the amount of free time I currently have. I just don't know how I'm going to do that without any passion for business. It's all bullshit to me. Hell, I can barely even talk to people on the phone without feeling sick. Dealing with the world, interacting with people ... it's just way too fucking difficult. Society doesn't work for people who can barely come out of their head. If only I could do all of my interacting from behind this computer screen, I'd be fine. I could work with that. But dealing in reality? Fuck me, it's exhausting. It's draining. Eventually I'm going to lose everything. I hope my sanity goes first.

The worst part is people who can do it, people who enjoy socializing and meeting people and making small talk and interacting, they just don't understand how difficult it is for the rest of us. They don't understand how miraculous a thing like the internet and email and MUSHes have been to our kind. They encourage us to "get out there and live life!" They think we're wasting away in a dark room, hiding from the world. Well, sure, yes. We are hiding from the world because the world is an uncomfortable place where everybody demands you make eye contact and chitchat happily or else they get their fucking feelings hurt. They don't realize how hard it is. Because they want to get out amongst people and they feed off social interactions, they cannot comprehend how much effort it takes for us to just step outside the door. My work week is three days. Some weeks, work is the only time I even leave the house. Four days where I step outside simply to check the mail. Fuck you, world. Stop expecting things from me.

I only added the previous statement because I once promised that y'all would get to see me fall apart in middle age on this blog. So Happy Trainwrecking! It's beginning to look a lot like Crapmas!

Maybe a few dick jokes will cheer me up. Although I'm not sure how many opportunities I'll get for dick jokes in a Batwoman comic book.

Oh! But here's a chance for a poop joke!

At Jeffcon Four, the theme of the costume party was your favorite role-playing character. While it wasn't exactly my favorite and, I believe, may have only lasted for one night of gaming, I decided to dress up as my Cyberpunk character that was in a band. I didn't even remember the name of the character but I figured it would be fun. The single night that I remember playing that campaign was mostly spent sitting around the table writing songs for the band. My character was lead singer of a band called The Misogynists. Their first album was entitled "Duty. Honor. Count..." where the ellipsis were (was?) replaced by a hand in the middle of writing out the phrase "Duty. Honor. Country." on the cover of the album. At the party, I sang their hit song, "Five Fingered Angel." The only other song I remember the band writing that night was "Bitch Bitch Bitch." Here's a bit of Five Fingered Angel:

"Late at night when I'm laying in bed,
I've seen all the shows and my books are all read,
I sit back and think of...my one true love.

She's the only one that can comfort me.
Her gentle massage always sets me free.
She's a part of me...my one true love.

She's my five fingered angel!
She's the only one I trust.
She's my five fingered angel.
And I use her when I must.
She's a five fingered angel and she's mine."

You probably don't want to hear the lyrics to "Bitch Bitch Bitch."

What was I writing about? Oh! Batwoman! Her Uncle Dick has been killed by The Red Hood over in one of them Batmen comic books and now she's come back from West Point for the funeral. Bruce Wayne couldn't make it because he's rich enough to have a butler to send out into the world to do things for him while he luxuriates in his dark, humid batcave. Lucky bastard.

Kate Kane teaches her father the meaning of the term "pathetic fallacy" which has nothing to do with impotence like I thought. Although that might be a good title for the first album of my new band, The Misandrists: "Pathetic Fallac..." with the hand caught writing mid-phrase again! I think they could do a cover of "Bitch Bitch Bitch" but change it to "Prick Prick Prick." The other lyrics wouldn't have to be changed at all! Which I think makes some kind of statement or another about either sexism or The Misogynists not being very good at misogyny.

Meanwhile, Metropolis is shipping off some of their police officers to help out in Gotham during the blackout and super storm. One of those officers is Maggie Sawyer. Hmm. Six years ago? She might be pregnant right now!

At the wake (is that what you call the thing you go to after the viewing and the graveside thingy-thing?) in Wayne Manor, Kate Kane winds up out back in the family graveyard. She runs into Bruce there because where else would he be? In a hole in the ground in his yard? Ha ha! Preposterous! While speaking with Bruce, Kate goes from hauntingly beautiful to scruffily adorable in the space of one page!

I guess we're playing Tag-Team with the artists this issue.

Cousin Bette is also at the wake! As well as Alfred's Awesome German Chocolate Cake™.

Eventually something serious is going to happen. Not that Uncle Phil's death isn't serious! But that took place over in Batman's comic book, so it doesn't count here. I hope the plot revolves around somebody eating all of the cake! That's a Bat-mystery if ever I ever heard of one! For a second, I was going to blame Guy Gardner on stealing the cake that has yet to be stolen and then I realized that the guy I thought was Guy was actually Jacob!

After Bruce kicks everybody out of his house because he's got important Bat-things to do, Kate Kane dresses up in black clothing, covers her face in white and gray paint, and hits the streets to battle the hurricane. Or to teach looters an important lesson about not having the proper supplies at hand before a hurricane hits. Although I think a Plasma TV and a twelve back of Budweiser probably aren't essentials. Which means she'll have to be judge and jury when she picks the people she wants to beat up in the name of justice! Not real justice but her version of justice.

Oh! She should go after these guys because they've already worked it out in their own conversation that they're crossing a line!

One of these men works for a guy that's currently out of town. He's decided to rob his boss but he doesn't realize the guy's kid is at home! And the kid has some masking tape and he knows how to use it! To, you know, spell help on the window so that Kate Kane can see it and come to his rescue. Which she does! But then the burglars find her and the boy trying to leave! But they don't just let them leave for some reason! Instead, the burglar decides to stab Kate with his gun.

I guess he doesn't know that guns are projectile weapons and you're not supposed to get within disarming distance of your victim while holding one. Come to think of it, I don't think any comic book criminals know that.

Kate disarms the first guy and takes his gun and the jewels but the other burglars show up. She dives out the window and into the apartment complex's swimming pool where she takes a bullet to her shoulder while underwater. If she were Batman, she'd probably stay under water for ten minutes until the burglars thought she was dead and then she'd do a back-flip out of the pool to break all of their legs and ribs and jaws. But she's not Batman, so she just plays dead while floating on the water until they pull her out of the pool. Then she defeats them just in time for Maggie Sawyer to show up and fall in love.

Actually, Maggie and Kate don't really notice each other until they're all back at the precinct. Her father picks her up and chastises her for what she did until she falls asleep. And then once she's asleep, he's able to tell her how proud he is of her. Fucking fathers.

Batwoman #25 Rating: No change. No change because Kate was supposed to be kicking Batman's ass this month instead of eating finger sandwiches in a graveyard talking about how murderers need a special brand of justice! Although she did steal one of Bruce's motorcycles. That was nice.