In the previous storyline “Prey”, Batman faces up against Dr. Hugo Strange with his weird Batman-related insecurities and mannequin-fuckin’. “Prey” was a packed story: there was a Mayor’s daughter kidnapping, and hallucinogen that caused Batman to go nuts and relive his parents’ deaths, the introduction of the Batmobile, a hypnotized Gotham police sergeant killing machine, and Catwoman was in the mix as well!

This series is really good. We return with another story by Dennis O’Neil, who wrote the racist first story “Shaman”. Here’s hoping that “Venom” is at least slightly less racist, please.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #16 [March, 1991]
Written by: Dennis O’Neil
“Venom (Part 1)”

Cover art; Batman runnin’ through the sewers. Dredged in poop. Doing what he does best.

A water main break is flooding a tunnel. There’s a child down there, for some reason, but the kid is doomed. Doomed! *slicing motion across neck with the “chhhkkkk” sound*

So Batman’s going to take it upon himself to swim through the tunnel and save this kid who, let’s face it, may end up becoming the next Hitler or the next Danny Bonaduce. But that’ll be years later. For now, let’s worry about the Batman factor.

After twisting and turning through the twisty, turny tunnels, Batman finally finds a little girl strapped to a chair right behind a cascading waterfall of water main breakage! He recognizes her as Sissy Porter, the girl with the dreadful name! “I’ll have you out in a minute,” Batman reassures the wretched youngin’. “Give you my word on that. My promise. Never break–”

The water creeps up Sissy’s neck while Batman decides to try to lift gigantic boulders of concrete and, do what with them, I don’t know. This is kid is an inch from being submerged while Batman fucks around with these rocks. Whatever he was trying to do, it didn’t work.

“She died.”

lol

I would’ve definitely tried lifting the chair she was strapped to instead. Maybe cut the ropes? Are you fucking shitting me, Batman? You deserve to let this one hang over your head. “I was too weak to save her,” Bruce whines to Alfred. He thought he was going to be such a hero! A superhero, as it were! He did all his homework: found the kidnapper, used detective work to find Sissy, and also 11th grade trigonometry and physics even though it was due yesterday. And yet, he started lifting rocks and the girl drowned. What a fucking dingus of the highest order.

“I suggest you permit me to do something about your garments.” Alfred changes the subject with classic aplomb. “’Filthy’ does not express–”

“No, not until I’ve done what I have to do,” Bruce interrupts. Then he jacks off in his stinky suit.

Nope, Batman has to traipse up to Sissy Porter’s father and give him the bad news. *slicing motion across neck with the “chhhkkkk” sound*

Oh boy, narration. “It is four in the morning when he reaches Randolph Porter’s suburban house, and still raining, he realizes that he has just over an hour before dawn before he loses the darkness that is his ally and protector.” Oh, just fucking jack me off. Batman is such a twerp.

Randolph Porter looks like a complete nerd, ripe for wedgie-ing. He’s wearing a lab coat and is slumped over a desk looking at tiny slides under a lamp. “Well, it is a shame. My daughter certainly had a short life,” he smiles when Batman breaks the news, “but I daresay it was a happy one.”

This guy did it. Look at his face. Look at it. Crack open your copy of Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #16 and look at this bastard’s face. This guy did it.

“She died alone,” Batman frowns furiously. “In terror and pain.”

“Who knows what awful things would have happened to her if she’d lived, eh?” says Randolph Porter conversationally. Whatever, I guess. So what did the kidnapper want? Money? Jewels? Trinkets? Pornography of VHS of women spitting into other women’s mouths? “These,” Randolph smiles. “A handful of capsules.”

He presents a handful of capsules.

“Are you familiar with the term ‘designer drugs’? Randolph asks the Bat-like Man. Batman makes a face that suggests he doesn’t, probably because this is pre-internet and everyone had to do their research on microfiche. Basically, Dr. Randolph Porter custom makes drugs. Far out, man.

“These babies right here,” Porter presents the pile of pills, proud of his work. “If you’d had them tonight at that tunnel, Sissy would still be alive. Go on. Take one.”

Yeah, that’s right. Go suck a dick, Batman, for killing his daughter by proxy. Get addicted to Porter’s pills as retribution.

“Not interested,” Batman eventually claims, obviously interested. He flicks the pill behind him. Suddenly, Batman hears the sound of footsteps ascending the staircase. He ushers Porter out of the room and–

*guns*

Some fuckface in a newsboy cap shoots his way through the door with semi-automatic rifle. “Owwww,” he cries when Batman grabs the dude’s wrist effortlessly. Right in the face this guy gets punched, why not? Randolph Porter is like “oh my”. Batman tells Mr. I Don’t Care Much That My Daughter Died to call the cops while he runs out to find this guy’s partner. Guys like these always have partners!

Batman busts through the window like a real jerk, in the rain no less, and discovers the truck right out front of the house starting to speed away. He does a big, stupid leap from the second floor right on top of the truck, which knocks the breath right out of his letting-a-kid-die lungs. The driver swerves around trying to throw the Bat off the top of the truck, but the guy holds on for dear life. Then the driver does things like do donuts and slam his vehicle into poles. Batman slides off into a puddle and watches the driver peel away. Failed again!

Bruce returns to his giant cobweb-laden abode where Alfred gives him shit for looking like a muddy asshole. Apparently, too, Bruce likes to set his clocks to the exact minute that his parents died. Alfred finds this curious rather than completely asinine like I do. Bruce retires to his cave where he starts deadlifting weights to, you know, make him feel more like a man. He needs to be able to lift 600-lb rocks! Can’t save children without lifting heavy rocks, I always say.

Alfred gives the injured Bruce a once over. Looks like he really, really messed up his shoulder. Go see a doctor. “Later, maybe. Get the car.” Bruce walks away frowning. Alfred really frowns. If I were Alfred I’d quit my job tout suite.

Getting the car they do. Bruce wants to travel to the spot where the truck hit the pole so that he can analyze the removed paint? I don’t know. He scrapes it with a knife and hauls ass back to his cave for paint analysis. Yep, it’s paint all right!

Time to call every body shop in Gotham City to see who uses this paint.

And then give lots of money to any body shop who uses this paint as a bribe to look through their records.

And then call District Attorney Harvey Dent for him to go through his records about any ne’er-do-wells from the body shop records.

One guy has a ding on his permanent record. “Suspicion of kidnapping”. Time to pay this guy a visit!

Then, after a hearty steak and eggs breakfast, we can–

“Master Bruce, it has been been at least ninety-six hours since you slept. Even through your jacket, I can see that your shoulder has swollen to twice its normal size. You are mumbling and barely coherent. I really must insist that you see a doctor and then retire–”

Shut up, Alfred! Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Can’t you see that Bruce Wayne needs to AVENGE THE DEATH of some girl who could’ve been the next Danny Bonaduce?! THE WORLD HAS LOST A POSSIBLE NATIONAL TREASURE! He doesn’t care if he won’t sleep for a another ninety-six hours! He’s going to catch the guy who made Batman screw up a rescue mission!

Alfred’s gonna quit if you go through with this, sir.

Bruce Wayne, donned as Batman, ignores Alfred and gets out of the car. Whoops! Called your bluff, Butler Jones.

So this costumed freak scopes out the guy’s apartment or condo or hovel or motel room or whatever you want to call it. He gets right up to the window and says some menacing Bat stuff. Lays it all out on the table.

Then Batman climbs through the window ready to pound some man butt. “Hey, man, I got no beef with you,” whines one of the two mopes Batman is trying to intimidate. The other is like “yo I got this” and then starts the fisticuffs. Since Bruce hurt his shoulder trying to deadlift 600 fucking pounds, he has the disadvantage. Especially when one of them whacks it with a lamp! Batman cries so hard here and I’m laughing and laughing…

So this limp-dicked loser gets taken down handily. One of the guys holds Batman while the other guy swings at his jaw, hurting his hand in the process. But the other guy punches Batman right through a window and onto the balcony. I’m fucking dying of laughter here. It’s very funny to see! He whomps on the ground right in front of Alfred. Peak comedy.

These two are about to hop out of the window and give the masked one much more comeuppance, but a man in the shadows tells them to let him go. This shadow man wears a fedora and a sharp suit. “His time has not come yet,” he says ominously.

Speaking of time not coming… sorry, terrible transition. Alfred wakes Bruce up later to tell him some important information about his conversation with the doctor: “I told the physician that you fell from a hot air balloon onto a picnic table full of cheese blintzes. The story is too ludicrous to be disbelieved. I’m sure the good doctor will enjoy relaying it.”

Alfred with the W yet again! I love that guy unconditionally. Bruce gets up and starts putting the Batman suit on again, much to Alfred’s chagrin. “And you should most certainly not be wearing that.” Bruce tells him not to worry, he’s just gonna be a dumbass all over again! Don’t wait up.

Batman returns to Mr. Happy-My-Daughter’s-Dead to get some of those sweet, sweet, tasty pills of his, which he is happy to provide. Batman stares at it for a hot minute, then pops that baby right into his supple little mouth. “A month’s supply,” Porter says, proferring an envelope and grinning nefariously. “When these run out, let me know.”

Batman goes home and deadlifts 600 pounds. Now we’re cooking with gas! Time to put this newfound strength and gumption to good use! Batman decides to go to the bar where one of those guys are. You know, one of those guys. One of those guys who threw him out a window. Batman knew exactly where to find him, apparently.

“You weren’t hard to find,” he tells him, confirming my earlier comment. He picks this guy up by the scruff and heaves him onto a table. “Your turn,” he says, turning to the other guy at the bar.

“I c’n take you,” he says, smiling dopily. Batman punches him so hard in the face that there’s a panel that looks like his head exploded right off his body, which gets another lol from me. This guy is thrown through the window, destroying even more property in this establishment.

And then Batman stands there so proud and happy that he belts out a laugh.

It’s where the meme comes from.

Final Thoughts

Oh my! Batman’s gonna be addicted to these sinister pep pills and he’s going to start fucking Alfred’s face in a delirium of confusion and extreme horniness!

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight is clearly the best of any Batfamily series I’ve come across, which is admittedly a very small number. Still though, it proves that modern doesn’t always mean better. I’m looking at you, New 52. Bleh.