It’s very dark out.
Cat Squirrel: “What did you find?”
Black Rhumba: “A box of stale Cheerios. You?”
Cat Squirrel: “A worn out boot and a used-up tin of what’s gotta be Alfred’s mustache wax. What about you Elvis Chicken and Banana Man?”
Elvis Chicken: “Bawk! NOTHING!”
Banana Man: “I think it’s a credit card offer addressed to Dick Grayson.”
“How are we going to get over that wall?” It looms over them in the night. High, but not incredibly high.
Cat Squirrel: “I’ll just climb it you dummies. I’m a Cat AND a Squirrel! GUH.” Then under her breath, “Guys are so stupid.”
Black Rhumba: “And then what?”
Cat Squirrel: “I’ll unlock the gate and we can get to the dumpsters.” She points her head. “Go stand over there and wait.”
They watch her grey furry tail disappear over the wall. Dumbfounded, but impressed the men scurry over to the gate. With a click it swings open and there she is, and behind her a small scruffy parking lot, dimly lit with two dumpsters spray-painted “Port City Sanitary”. It’s something of a walled courtyard with a windowless stout metal door into the building.
Black Rhumba: “Well shit. How’d you get through the lock?”
Cat Squirrel: “I just pretended it was full of nuts and catnip. How hard do you think they work to protect the trash?”
Banana Man: “We better move in case we’re being watched. Stealth Banana Mode, activated.” He throws open the lid to the first dumpster. Empty. Inside the second, two bags. He hauls them out and drops the bags at their feet.
There it is. Batman’s garbage.
The Justice League of Justice
There’s an old table in the dusty little-used basement of Acme Lanes, the bowling alley. Several unusual and unlikely individuals are seated around it chatting quietly and trying not to be annoyed by the flickering fluorescents overhead in the water stained drop ceiling. A dapper looking man stands up, places his palms on the table and leans forward. “I’d like to bring this meeting to order. We all know why we are here. And we have a guest. I propose we all make brief introductions before we get down to business. I am Mr. Know-It-All.” He sits down.
“He-Wonder Woman here” waves a hand with a large golden bracelete.
“Broccoli Man, present.”
“Hungry Man Dinner, g’d evening”
“Italian Spider Man”
“Black Rhumba. Habari za jioni.“
“Elvis Chicken bawk!“
The last person to speak is a slight young man with long straw-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. He stands up, takes a bow. “Thank you for having me. I am from Germany.” You can tell from his lilting accent. “My name is Josef, the Pool Boy. I fight grime. You all fight grime too, yah?” He looks from face to face.
Banana Man, the professional janitor growls: “I fight grime every day. For justice.” At this Josef smiles, nods and sits down.
“Ideas! We need some ideas!” Mr Know-It-All bangs his fist on the table.
Hungry Man Dinner scoffs in his deep voice. He’s a big man. “Some of us are out of high school, boy. Someone’s got to have something better.”
Elvis Chicken, wearing his full chicken armor jumps up. “Let’s go after the Colonel, bawk!“
“Which Colonel is that?” wonders Black Rhumba.
Elvis Chicken lowers his voice and puts his arms/wings on his hips. “Which one do you think? This chicken genocide must end! Strike a blow for chicken freedom!” In a curious coincidence of timing the crashing noise of all ten pins coming down from a high-velocity attack filters to the basement.
There’s some grumbling from the group. Does not seem like a popular idea.
Live Zombie, a surprisingly unassuming individual in a mild plaid short sleeve shirt turns to Black Rhumba. “Say, where did you get your name?”
“Black Mambo was already taken.”
“Don’t you mean ‘Black Mamba’?” He gets a glare in return.
“I say we march in the Columbus Day parade! And fight some Nazi’s!” demands Italian Spider Man.
“If we do that, can we also have a float in the LBGT parade?” wonders He-Wonder Woman.
Cat Squirrel is not impressed. “Where are we going to get the money for that, huh?”
“Don’t be such a bitch, honey. Just asking. It’s a chance to be fabulous!“
“Don’t make me climb your tree and steal your nuts!” is the angry reply.
He-Wonder Woman cocks an eyebrow. “Honey, that would just save me a trip to the doctor.”
Robin Williams, all mischievous smile under his glinting eyes and greying black hair asks, “Well, why not raid Batman’s trash? He’s gotta have some great bat-stuff in there. Who here couldn’t do with some free gear?”
This gets some attention.
“I could use some free gear.” General agreement.
A vote is taken. “Wayne Manor it is!” grins Mr. Know-It-All. Then quieter, “Are you really Robin Williams?”
Robin merely shrugs and replies, “Nanno nanno!”
(Thanks to Bill Racicot for the story idea.)