The goddam Batman. Bad enough that the muscled freak insists upon his own brand of vigilante justice. But what do you do when he shows up at your bar, leering at your breasts and making lewd comments? The bouncers were afraid to even make eye contact with him, and when called, the cops flatly refused to have anything to do with the Batman. Now what's a girl supposed to do? Linda sighed. It was still five hours to closing time, and that Bat douche hadn't once lifted his eyes above her chest.

It was a good night to be the Batman. Fighting crime had made him a rockstar. Fucking famous, man. Untouchable. He could tell the chick behind the bar had the hots for him. Oh, she'd struggle a little, just for form, but once he started slipping her all three and a half inches of his Batprobe she'd soon quiet down, just like the others. Yeah, life was good. And damn but she had nice titties.

golfhack walked out of the men's room whistling a merry tune and adjusting his birthday bowtie. Darned natty, even if he did say so himself. As he entered the main bar, he immediately picked up on the frosty air of unease. He spotted the cause right away, about halfway down the bar, in his bat costume. Didn't that idiot ever learn?

The Dark Knight turned to see who had come out of the men's room. Oh god no, it was him. As the fear rushed through him, he could barely feel the warm urine flow from his tight rubber Batjock and down his legs. It had taken Alfred almost two hours of probing to retrieve his Batarang from his rectum the last time he had faced this foe.

golfhack turned to the barmaid. "Excuse me young lady, is this man bothering you?". As she nodded gratefully, he spotted a black fist approaching from his blind spot. Nope, the idiot apparently didn't ever learn. With a blur of motion, the crunch of nose against mahogany, and the snapping of an arm bone, it was all over. golfhack ripped off Batman's mask and revealed Bruce Wayne to the assembled bar patrons. His tears ran in streaks as black as the night from the makeup around his eyes, while his blood ran from his broken nose and dripped off his chin.

Ugh, Batman was that douche Bruce Wayne? Linda wasn't surprised. The misogynist millionaire playboy had recently been voted Gotham's Most Eligible Asshole, and it wasn't hard to see Batman as the extension of the underlying egotistical douchebag. It was almost possible to feel sorry for him as he sat there in his own urine with a broken arm and blood dripping from his broken arm. Almost. Linda threw Wayne's drink into his face. "Get out of my bar, you asshole."

The flashes from the phone cameras of the bar patrons indicated the end of the Dark Knight's career. The accusations of sexual harassment in Wayne Enterprises would be re-visited by a police department prepared to take the allegations seriously. As the probes deepened and widened, the kickbacks from Wayne Enterprises to various political patrons would cause a huge scandal, ending in a rooting out of much of the corruption which had plagued Gotham for so long. Crime would plummet, opportunities would blossom, investment would increase and a bright new day would dawn for Gotham City under the stewardship of the newly elected golfhack administration.

But all that lay in the future as golfhack held open the saloon door and turned to the weeping Bruce Wayne. "Your mascara's running. You should run after it."

Clutching his broken arm, Wayne stumbled out into the night, and into a life of ignominy and long prison sentences.

Linda turned to her rescuer. He was a little older it was true, but he was still cute, and there was that certain way he held himself. Oh stop it Linda, she thought to herself. He's probably happily married. Still, she gave him her very brightest smile as she put his drink in front of him. "This one's on the house".

golfhack could not help but smile back. This was turning out to be a pretty good birthday after all.