Born from your imbecility.

Metal lyrics, dude. Metal lyrics.

I’d like to start out today’s post by wishing a very Happy Birthday to Blatzy. Be sure to wish him one as well.

Okay, down to business. It is Batmas once again. A few days ago, I had a revelation. Here is my revelation:

When I win the lottery, I am going to build a mansion. On a nice big sprawling piece of land, on the outskirts of a big city. A piece of land, preferably, with a waterfall or lots of dense woods. Under my mansion, I am going to build a secret lair. I am going to stock this secret lair with the finest equipment and gadgets that money can buy. I am also going to hire a butler and have his name legally changed to Alfred Pennyworth.

Meanwhile, in Nova Scotia, I am going to buy an island. And construct a compound. Standard compound stuff. House (let’s call it a fortress), gardens, go-kart track, etc. This will be my home. Not the mansion.

The mansion will be my pretend home.

At some point in this plan, I will need a son. How this son is brought into the world is irrelevant. What is important is that his name be Bruce Wayne. At some point, probably around 8 years old, little Bruce will witness me and his mother being murdered at the hands of a mugger. This mugger, and more than likely his mother, will be paid actors. After my “death” I will return to my Nova Scotian fortress (of solitude) and live out the rest of my life in peace and happiness.

Bruce, on the other hand, will be mentored by the grieving Alfred and one day fight the crime that took the life of his noble and generous parents.

Why would I do this? For Justice.

And because I’m rich and I can do whatever I want.

NO-O-O-O-O-O-O!!!

Yes, this is what I think about in my house. All day.

I’ve even gone so far as to return to the world as Bruce’s arch enemy. At some point revealing to him that I am his father, ala Vader. But that might be a bit much. Let’s face it, being an arch enemy to a crime-fighting vigilante would be a lot of work. And sitting in a hammock sounds way better to me. So, I might just stay on my island.

Please think about this as you head off to those Grismas (Batmas) parties today and tomorrow. Somewhere out there, my little Bruce Wayne is waiting to be born. Like Jesus. Only a ninja. The little baby ninja Jesus.

See ya’ tomorrow.

More soon. ~SC