welcome gentle traveler to the ‘fan’ fiction portion of my gentle green oasis, if tales from the heart can truly be thusly labeled thus. come and rest your weary mind with my tales of the heart, and become whole.
first, my humble apologies for not updating this site weekly as i had promised way back in september of 1998. i was very busy with my buffy newsgroup, but now that the show is in reruns i’m certain i can get right back on track and the second update won’t take two and a half years.
i believe that when you read my first effort at ‘fan’ fiction, however, you’ll agree that it was worth the wait, my story-loving friend, not to be stuck-up or anything. and i hope that you shall cherish it uniquely, and let it be as a part of thee.
and now, without any much ado about something, my first story–mayhap it shall touch your heart the way it made me touch myself.
the tall trees seemed to shudder at the appearance of the tall man with the pointed ear hat, as though they were afraid, shivering in the silvered moonlight as though the bat-shaped man were a killer of trees instead of a tortuous detective on the trail of a mentally ill damaged person…the scent of murder was wafting, wafting, wafting…
“do you smell that, robin? that is the scent of murder most foul. it wafts, it wafts,” said the tall man with the bat symbol emblazoning his nipples, and who did not have herpes. his very presence seemed to dominate the dirt, rocks and trees with charisma and gentle forcefulness.
“yes, batman, he is dead. discarded like the refuse of a bankrupt culture. but i must ask you, bruce,” said robin, using the sensitive detective’s real first name, “i was wondering…why are not you married? is not there one, special girl, perhaps a soul more artistic than classically-featured, that could tame your lonely heart?”
the dark knight sighed deep in his bosom, and said, in the blood-red moonlight, “often have i yearned in my detecting heart for such as which you speak, robin, but i fear that such is not for me to find, to my eternal chagrinning. the women i meet are all beautiful in the traditional sense, as television and magazines have taught us to find attractive, but not within, as would be wished for by my yearning self.”
“bummer,” said robin.
“but enough of my yearnings…” said the batman, his rich, deep, manly voice shattering the silence of the empty park, “i must put aside my longings, though the price is indeed magnificent, for i am the forever protector of gotham city, which is this city that we are in!”
“yeah!” agreed the young youth robin, wistfully.
the dark knight bent shyly to one knee, as a roman knight might have bent before his beloved queen to offer her a rose, and examined the lifeless dead corpse, pale blue in the blue moonlight, checking to see if it was breathing.
“he is dead. oh, ever shall i curse the foul underworld that takes innocence and crushes it, like a flower wilting ever thus!” cursed the batman, a single tear running down his bat-eared hat.
robin, keenly observing as befitting his roll, said, “perhaps it was a suicide, as these troubled times in gotham are known for?”
“i don’t believe so, robin. notice the injury to the victim’s medulla oblongata right along the hypothalamus gland…see how it is fractured thusly in the back of his head? this would indicate trauma from a blunt object, something pot-shaped…and see, in the skin along the craniode bone? this design?”
“why, it looks like a unicorn…but, but…” stuttered the boy wonder, who was unused to girls.
“yes, a unicorn. we should be looking for…yes! here it is beside the victim’s head! a clay pot with a unicorn pattern on it! and I am betting that this red liquid will prove to be the victim’s head blood!”
“that is why you are the dark knight,” exclaimed robin, who only knew the loneliness in batman’s soul which was cavernous.
“commissioner jim gordon who is my life-long friend shall check the fingerprints. meanwhile, we must search the park for eye witnesses whom could have espied the terrible unicorn pot murder!” stated the batman.
“it could still be a suicide,” opined robin, wishing once again for an end to the dark knight’s uneaseful heart.
“i taught you well,” rebuked the man with the glistening rubber codpiece.
“look thus! over sleeping in that mound of dog fecal material! perhaps this young pitiful homeless man saw the incident and will thusly help with our yearning!” screeched the batman, remembering his dead parents.
“your yearning for a special woman, perhaps not ‘supermodel thin,’ as that is only a false feminine ideal, but someone who is mayhap a woman of substance?” queered Robin.
“no, robin! our yearning for justice! hey, you! pitiful homeless man without hopes or dreams! how came you to this lowly state,” asked the gotham wonder man, sensitively.
“i wasn’t always as you see me now, batman, a pitiful, reeking, horrible, toothless, acne-scarred bum! why, once i went to college and dreamed of being a writer! i had a girlfriend too good for me but like a fool i gave her herpes and now i have crotch rot! look upon my rotted crotch and despair!” said the stinking loser.
“come on batman. we are wasting our time with this disgusting loser. he doesn’t even have shoes, ” said the boy wonder, mentioneering the obvious.
“here is a dollar, which is more than you’ll ever make in your so-called ‘writing career’,” sneered batman to the lice-infested creep. ” why don’t you get some soap? hahahah!”
“did you smell him? he smells like someone who has herpes of the crotch!” joculated robin, mirthily.
the bad-breathed sot re-adjusted the newspaper that served as his filth-ridden diaper and cried, “you can’t talk to me that way! i’m brendan “nightwing” hockenberry!”
“shut up, dork,” said batman, hitting him.
later, after more hitting, the caped crusaders leapt, like a beautiful sad stag and a tender yet eager fawn, into the awaiting batcar, or whatever.
“there’s no getting around it, chum,” spake the batman poetically, “we are out of our league. if we can’t trace this pot, a murderer will go free!”
“you are right, the stakes are very high, murder-wise. but batman, where in the world can we find an expert in both pottery AND unicorns? it is inconceived! such an expert would be priceless in our crime-fighting efforts!” told robin to the dark.
“there’s only one place! to the community college!” said the six-three man who wasn’t grotesquely muscled, but more like a swimmer, taut and firm, who also liked gardening.
fern was stunned by the sudden knocking at her door, as she wrote poems of love and beauty in her book of truth. but she was even more stunned by the door-filling glistening frame of the overtly-erotic batman.
“why, yes, i suppose you could call me an expert in pottery, batman. after all, i am a teacher’s aide in that very subject three nights a week!” said the girl who was not attractive in the cheerleader/supermodel sense, but still had a certain glow of inner beauty hidden deep away inside her soul of hearts.
“i’m afraid that’s not enough, fern, although, lord knows, you make me feel alive in a way that i’ve never felt since the childhood death of my…but i’ve said too much. i’m afraid to solve this case, we shall need the expertise of one well-versed in the knowledge of unicorns! i’m sorry to have taken your time,” surmised the saddened man under in a bat outfit.
“but, batman, did you not know that i am an expert in unicorn lore? i have over twenty stuffed unicorns, and a newsgroup also!” said fern, who was not thin, in the sense of someone who could wear a swimsuit without shame, but possessed of an inner thinness.
“fern, i….i…i’ve never met anyone like you. please, won’t you let me dance you around your apartment until your stuck-up popular room-mate comes home so that she shall see us and thus be jealous? gladly would i return to the park to hit the former boyfriend who treated you most shamefully, the dork!” stuttered the adoring batman.
“do not be afraid, batman! spake the truth which is in your heart!” exclaimed fern, who wasn’t actually academically-motivated, but possessed an inner intelligence that the batman found captivating and mesmerizing.
“oh, fern…darling fern…sweet, wonderful, nurturing, supportive fern. ”
and then they did it.
NEXT WEEK: robin wants fern, too!
fern rosario is many things…a pottery maker, a unicorn lover, a poet, a kat lover, and now, a teller of tales. she also likes celtic music and ho-ho’s. her poetry page is here…
visit often, and carry fern with you always, for is not love that which shall ever be?
this tale of the heart is dedicated to everyone in the world, except brendan, or as he is known by me, ol’ drippy drawers.
Thanks to Lea Hernandez and Rob Harris for laff-testing, and ESPECIALLY thanks to Lisa Jonte, who can draw like crazy, really! Check out her website at: home.att.net/~bentweasle/BentWeasle_Pre/Homex.html
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You’ll All Be Sorry! is a satire published by Comic Book Resources, and is not intended maliciously. CBR has invented all names and situations in its stories, except in cases when public figures are being satirized. Any other use of real names is accidental and coincidental, or used as a fictional depiction or personality parody (permitted under Hustler Magazine v. Fallwell, 485 US 46, 108 S.Ct 876, 99 L.Ed.2d 41 (1988)). CBR makes no representation as to the truth or accuracy of the preceeding information.