This is a piece I wrote for the FanFiction Comedy show I produce during the MICF. Surprisingly enough, it’s about Batman.
It had seemed like such a good idea. The timing should have been perfect. Batman had just saved Gotham, and HE, he alone, was the person who had fixed the Dark Knight’s back.
Surely everyone would flock to his chiropractic clinic: Backman Begins.
He was very pleased with the name, and even more so with the Back-signal that shot up into the night sky. (To be honest it was just the regular bat signal, but the bat was wearing a neck-brace.)
This business had been his dream ever since he had escaped the World’s Worst Prison in the middle of nowhere and made the difficult journey to Gotham City.
Well he had certainly expected it to be difficult seeing he was in the middle of nowhere, with no money, no phone and no ID, and America has incredibly strict immigration laws… but it turned out it was surprisingly easy and he made in a couple of hours.
(And in brackets I have put: “in a totally plausible and explainable way that we unfortunately don’t have time to go into right now”).
But since the doors had opened, things had not all gone to plan.
For starters it turned out it was a terrible time to start a new business with the state of Gotham’s economy.
Sure Batman had saved the city from a bomb, but that hadn’t magically fixed the stock-market, rebuilt the football stadium, or sticky-taped the mayor back together.
I mean it’s hard for a city to recover immediately after Bane has blown your major into so many pieces even all the Kings horses and all the Kings men don’t know where the fuck to start.
Gotham Rogues fans had been picking pieces of the Mayor out of their kids hair for months.
And while the people of Gotham were rebuilding, where was Bruce Wayne? Off somewhere banging his cat.
He corrected himself. Don’t blame Bruce.
Like everyone he appreciated what Batman did, and he missed Bruce. That’s how he remembered him: Bruce. Just as Mr Wayne would always remember him as “Prisoner”.
(And I have in brackets here: “I looked up his name in the script of The Dark Knight Rises and he was just called Prisoner.”)
Bruce and Prisoner had bonded when they were in prison together. It was the downtime he missed the most. The hours he and Bruce spent together just hanging out and watching tele.
Sure Bane had put it there so Bruce could witness Gotham’s destruction, but there was a lot of downtime, and they got cable, so he and Bruce had bonded over their mutual love of the Australian TV show Bondi Rescue.
If there is one thing that is guaranteed to bring together even the most hardened criminal and the world’s greatest superhero it’s laughing at asians who can’t swim.
“Ahahahahaha, they keep going in the water!” They would chuckle to each other.
They would laugh for hours, and then flip over to Border Rescue to enjoy elderly Chinese women getting confused that they couldn’t bring their medicine in to the country.
Ah, Australian TV, it was so reliably racist.
The second problem that he had found with the chiropractic business was in fact his criminal record.
It turned out that despite how friendly you are, people don’t tend to trust someone who has done something bad enough to be thrown into thrown into the World’s Worst Prison.
And that time spent with Rolf Harris in London was certainly coming back to hurt him.
But it was the third problem with his Backman Begins business that was definitely the big one.
Despite being known as the man who fixed the Batman’s back, not everyone in the city was convinced by his controversial chiropractic techniques.
It turned out that some people, weren’t that keen on being hung on a rope from the roof and then being punched really hard in the back.
It probably also didn’t help that it was his treatment for everything.
Sore back? Punch in the back. Sore shoulder? Punch in the back. Rolled ankle? Punch in the back. Got punched in the back? Punch in the back. Can’t stop hiccuping? Punch in the back. Just came in looking for directions? Punch in the back.
He would even punch people in the back if they told him they were gluten intolerant. That one wasn’t a cure, he just hated gluten intolerant people. He was gluten intolerant intolerant.
Some people had even had the nerve to question whether stringing someone on a rope and then punching them in the back would even work as a method of fixing a broken back, that Wayne wouldn’t be getting enough protein to rebuild his muscles with his prison diet.
But what those cynics didn’t realize was that the prison had its own Boost Juice franchise and that every morning he would get Bruce a Banana Buzz with a gym builder and an immunity boost.
(And then in brackets I have put: “So that explains that!”)
You may think it is unlikely that Bane would install a Boost Juice in the World’s Worst Prison, but he had always been really fond of a smoothie as it was really the only thing he could eat with that mask. The reason he was often so hard to understand was he would get the mashed bananas caught in his grill;
He was a hard taskmaster Bane, but he rewarded hard work and inspired devotion;
He had a favourite joke on a Friday afternoon: “Now is not the time for beer, that comes later!”;
And everyone would laugh. Well you had to, or he would kill you.
Surprisingly yet another problem for the business had been his partner: the doctor. Rather than being relaxed and reassured by having a doctor present, some of his clients were actually put off by the blind morphine addict chanting in the corner. And his tendency to say things like: “You do not fear death. You think this makes you strong. This makes you weak.” was really starting to freak people out.
Despite a lifetime together in the world’s worst prison, the doctor had decided to go out on his own last week, and now owned a very successful medical marijuana dispensary specializing in Bane masks that were also bongs.
Even the regulars weren’t coming in anymore.
John Blake aka Robin aka The New Batman aka JGL had been a regular supporter at first. Well at least until the boredom had set in. At first Blake thought it would be exciting to be Batman, but with crime at an all-time low in Gotham there had been fuck all for him to do.
He had ended up getting Alfred to convert the Batcave into a pool room, and spent all day down there smoking the Batbong (the blind doctor had given him a prescription) and playing Grand Theft Auto: Gotham City on the giant screens.
At night he would use the mobile phone tracking technology to send random people snapchat photos of his cock, or as he tagged it: his Bat-pole;
Things had got even weirder when he had made Alfred convert the whole thing into a nightclub where every Saturday night he would host the Batrave, and do a parody version of the 1995 hit from Scatman John, where he’d cleverly changed the words to I’m The Batman (Ski-Ba-Bop-Ba-Dop-Bop).
Finally he had got bored completely, shut it all down, and left town telling Alfred he was going to use the Batplane to track down some chick called Summer he used to really be into.
Commissioner Gordon had been a regular customer after he hurt his neck. He was chewing the scenery so much during one scene he bit off a whole chuck of wood and choked on it. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed by a quick punch in the back.
But even Jim Gordon hadn’t been around lately. He had gone a little batty himself since Gotham had been saved. He missed his best friend the Batman, but also doubted his abilities as a policeman seeing in 12 years he hadn’t been able to spot something a little orphan kid noticed in an afternoon.
He was also so moved by Batman’s final speech (and in brackets here I have said: “Put Batman’s last speech in here, you know the one where he is in the plane about the hero and the kid and saying it’s going to be okay. And then after that I have put, make sure you actually find the speech and put it in here, and don’t forget and then just have to read this bit out.”)
Anyway, Gordon had been so moved by that speech that now he was first on the scene whenever a child had seen their parents to put a coat around their shoulders and whisper in their ear: “Please be a superhero! Will you be my new best friend?” Frankly, it was getting creepy.
And Alfred, well Alfred had come in a couple of times, but it wasn’t long before Apple realized he was way too qualified to be a butler. After learning he had managed to keep the world’s most sophisticated computer system operational in an underground cave for 10 years without being allowed to let one single technician in, and still manage to make the beds, he was head hunted to replace Steve Jobs.
Sadly he was sacked soon after for inventing the iPhone 5. He said he loved the new design, because the battery life is so shit, you have to keep it plugged in all the time and it reminded him of a landline. Last anyone had heard he had gone on a bender with his huge payout, and was now lined up for the next series of Celebrity Rehab to deal with his terrible Fernet Branca addiction.
Prisoner shook his head: “A Fernet Branca addiction? Nothing that couldn’t be fixed by a good punch in the back!” To be continued…