A look into the private journal of the Batman:

F*ck, I am tired. AGAIN. I seem to always be writing that here in my journal. F*ckin’ tired. They’re going to put that on my gravestone – “He was f*ckin’ tired!”. I had another all-nighter last night. My fifth one this week. I canNOT keep doing this. I don’t sleep, I don’t eat, I get my ass kicked just about every night by nut-jobs in tacky-ass green question-mark leotards, jumping off of freakin’ buildings like I’m a f*ckin’ goth Peter Pan. And for what? No thanks, no holidays, no parades. Just people making fun of my pointy ears and queer tights. Well they aren’t goddamned tights! It’s flexible knit body armor, THERE IS A DIFFERENCE!

How the hell does Superman stay so perky and “up” all the time? He’s like a freakin’ robot! No one’s calling him a freak, at least not to his face. No one’s busting Supe’s ass night after night. I bet he doesn’t even have to sleep or eat. Geez. Makes me sick. And of course Robin just loves him to death. Robin may as well start a Superman Fan Club. He’s got his posters all over his walls, he clips out all the newspaper articles, he even wears f*ckin’ Superman underpants! What the hell!!??

Robin says I’m just jealous but I told him, “Hey, I’m not jealous about kids covering their butts with underwear that’s got my face on it. No thanks! But if that’s what Superman is in to, hey, who am I to judge?” That really burns Robin up, the little punk. I swear one of these days Robin’s going to be swinging from a bat-rope and I just might not be there to catch his zit-covered, superman-underweared ass! Just sayin’



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