Now that Batman has finished his sabbatical, he’s going to go find Porter and Slaycroft and challenge them both to fisticuffs at dawn.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight (Vol. 1), Issue #19 [June, 1991]
Written by: Dennis O’Neil
“Venom (Part 4)”

Batman is fighting a shark! Imagine seeing this fucking thing on the rack at your local comic book store in 1991. I’d be embarrassed to buy this shit.

So Slaycroft and Porter have created a small army of dimwitted, blood-thirsty beasts. Part of “training” involves ambushing a group of locals in a small village and killing the unholy piss out of all them. One guy has a gun that Slaycroft gave him. The bullet bounces right off the chest of a particularly mean-looking crew cut dude. Crew Cut slams both fists against the sides of Gun Guy’s head, cracking his skull. Blood everywhere! Brutal stuff! Ain’t no blood in New 52 Batman, that’s for sure. There’s barely even any cum!

Crew Cut discovers his poor, scared grandmother backed up against the side of a building. “Soy tu abuela, Miguel…” she quivers. Miguel approaches and snaps her neck, much to the amusement of Porter. Slaycroft orders his team to fall in.

“Should they burn the huts, do you think?” asks Porter, who admires the dead bodies littering the ground. “No point in wasting material if the exercise does not require it,” Slaycroft responds.

Back in Gotham’s Police HQ, Batman pays Gordon a surprise, sexy visit. No flowers? No candy? Gordon thought Batman was dead! He had disappeared, and–

*slap slap* He was detoxing, sir! Have some respect for the addicted! “Any news about Randolph Porter and General Timothy Slaycroft?” Batman asks with his gruff, Christian Bale voice. Well, they dropped off the face of the Earth. So no! But, they sent care packages of flowers and candy. Take a page out of their book, Batman. They know how to treat a man.

Batman knows that the two of them went to Santa Prisca and didn’t bother telling anybody about this. He just squirrelled himself away in his hidey-hole for 30 days instead like a horse’s ass. Doesn’t matter anyway. Santa Prisca is controlled by the cartel, and they don’t play nice with cops. Not even cops of certain, distinguished ruggedness! It’s quite a rude situation.

Well, Batman’s gonna go there and be rude himself. Rude all over everyone’s faces!

“Feeling ill, Doctor Porter?” General Slaycroft catches Porter popping pills. No worries, though. Porter has been popping these pills for over a year now… but, uh, don’t ask what they’re for. M’kay?

OK, well, you twisted his arm! These are his personal stash of miracle dugs designed to enhance his own physiology without causing habit-forming side effects yada yada yada. He offers Slaycroft to design a drug tailored to his own body and mind and spirit and underpants, but Slaycroft merely frowns heavily and rejects the notion that he needs to be bolstered by anything in pill form! Rejects and resents!

Anyway, training is going well. Porter doped them all up with hypnosis pills, so now they’re lined up in formation in a weird trance. “I called them to attention,” Slaycroft says. “None of them has moved a muscle since.”

Hell yeah, son! The perfect army! A bunch of impervious losers who will stand still until they starve if they’re ordered to! Slaycroft smiles maniacally. “Our army will crush the godless hordes that threaten us.” This is win-win! Slaycroft gets his great army and proves he’s a great general (as opposed to the shitty one that he’d be without cheating), and Porter proves that every other scientist stands in his shadow (which is important to him for some reason).

Bruce brings Alfred along on his plane to Santa Prisca. No doubt the butler will be able to schmooze his way around the drug cartel.

Bruce has done some background information on these two buddies he’s meeting up with. Porter fed two grad students at Gotham University “his home-brewed dope”. One committed suicide, the other is severely psychotic. As a result, Porter lost his position at the university. Slaycroft, that happy camper, had at least 18 troops die under his command. Also, his wife “died” in an “explosion” that was very “suspicious”. However, the court-martial board was impressed by Slaycroft’s war record, so he avoided prison. ANYWAY, 15 MINUTES UNTIL DESCENT! Grab some peanuts while you can, Alfie.

Whoops, Slaycroft got some intel within 15 minutes that some rich American dude bought a fucking plane and is fucking flying it to Santa Prisca. Porter dumps a pile of pills into his hand. “Should that interest us?”

Yes, dirtbag. He’s coming from Gotham City. The guy probably has a landing strip in his backyard. Porter still doesn’t care.

Well, dirtbag, put yourself in Batman’s smelly shoes. Wouldn’t you want to go after yourself after you screwed yourself all up with your pills? I rest my case.

“It’s not him. It can’t be. What I did to him with the drugs I gave him… he’s in a rubber room somewhere, drooling.” Porter starts to look a teensy bit panicked! Slaycroft aims to err on the side of caution…

While Slaycroft gets ready to go airplane huntin’, Bruce has his hands off the wheel in order to snap a few pictures with his comically large camera. And… oh shit, he’s sees some nerd in a military uniform aiming a rocket launcher at his plane! Eep! Eek! Eel!

Bruce pushes Alfred out of the airplane, which is hilarious and I’ll put that panel at the end of the post. Bruce then jumps out himself, and they both engage their parachutes. They make it out of the blast radius just in time, of course. Because this is comic books.

Bruce looks confident and placid. Alfred is screaming his tiny little lungs out.

Looks like the butler is descending to the north side of the island. Beautiful. Bruce will take the south. They’ll both enjoy a nice margarita and then move onto business! Bruce lands, strips out of his street clothes, shimmies himself into his Batman underpants. “When he’s Batman, things like invading an island full of hostile renegades doesn’t seem insane. Exactly.”

Right away, this Batguy gets spotted by locals with guns. In broad daylight, Batman is able to hide up in a tree successfully… until a bird flies right in front of him and squawks like a goddamned looney toon. Oops. So Batman takes the initative and drops down from the tree, clocks the men in their fragile jaw bones, and leaves them for dead.

Meanwhile, Porter chews his fingernails. “He’s a wreck, I tell you. They’re feeding him pablum in some asylum.”

Nope! Face the facts, Jack. The Bat is after them. Retool your strategies, Colonel Bonehead. While Porter pops more pills, Slaycroft gets his men ready for battle. Going to war, kids! Pack a lunch!

“You will patrol the perimeter until further orders. You will allow no one to pass in and out until futher orders. You will not sleep until further orders. DISMISSED!”

Hut Hut Hut Hut hut hut hut hut HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT HUT!! HIKE!!

Porter’s got a guy named Gomez who also has some men! They ain’t burly, beefy men, but they’re men all the same. Slaycroft doesn’t trust Gomez, which is foreshadowing that Gomez is gonna get a buttful of rocket launcher pretty damn soon.

…except that he calls them over the phone with some tight, clutch information about how to handle Mr. Bat Bones…

Batman has nothing to do right now except hang out. He worries about Alfred, who is either boning some hot local women or he’s dead (it’s the former – Alfred’s got mad game). Good thing he learned how to turn his brain off in Asia, I guess. Waiting is awesome.

Up in a helicopter, Slaycroft yells through a bullhorn. “YOU DOWN THERE… MASKED MAN… WHEREVER YOU ARE… LOOK UP HERE! WE HAVE YOUR FRIEND… IN AN HOUR HE WILL BE MADE TO BLEED… HE WILL BE PUT INTO WATER AT THE SOUTHERN TIP OF THE ISLAND WHERE SHARKS FEED… HE WILL BE EATEN ALIVE UNLESS YOU RESCUE HIM…”

Indeed, Alfred dangles from the helicopter tied up in a rope. He looks rather forlorn. An hour later, Batman arrives on the southern tip of the island where sharks feed. They’ve cut Alfred and he’s bleeding into the water. *checks watch* Sharks will be arriving anytime now. Yep… any minute…

“Perhaps you’d like to bargain with us. Offer us something in return for your friend’s safety.”

“No.”

Batman strips down to nothing but his belt and his cowl, which is a funny sight to behold. Porter offers Batman a pill to help increase his stamina! Batman ignores him. Been there, done that, stamina ain’t shit.

Alfred is tied to a couple of poles that are planted on the sea floor. Batman approaches him within the frigid, tumultuous waters. A large shark fin appears knifing its way across the water’s surface. Quickly, swiftly, deftly, Batman grabs onto a pole and kicks the shark in it’s motherfucking shark-ass face! “Sharks’ snouts are very sensitive,” he says to himself as the shark swims away. Try that one at home, kiddos. Batman is a good role model.

Batman cuts Alfred free with a tiny knife he has in his utility belt, the best weapon currently on his person. Alfred bobs in the water as the shark returns. Batman urges Alfred to swim to shore as he readies himself to kick more shark butt. Make shark soup outta him.

Batman rips one of the wooden poles from the sea floor and busts it up something pointy. When the shark pounces (do sharks pounce?), Batman stabs its mouth with it. While the shark dives down, its fin slices Batman’s underboob. Swimming in the sea just adds salt to the wound. Literally.

Oh shit, now Bruce is bleeding all over the water and about three more sharks arrive. And, now this is funny, Batman hoists a nearby boat holding a couple of locals and throws them to the sharks. I’m guessing that these are supposed to be bad guys, but there has been no context for this at all and I’m laughing pretty loudly here. Creating a distraction, Batman and Alfred make it to shore with no further harm.

Batman urges Alfred to run into the woods, find a boat, and make his way to Haiti. I’m serious. Batman seriously tells him this. Alfred obeys after a snarky comment. Batman then slowly approaches Dr. Randolph “Poopypants” Porter.

“An impressive performance,” jubilates Porter, “but I see you’re wounded. I can offer you some excellent painkillers–”

Batman drives a huge fist right into Porter’s face at 700 mph. “Use them yourself.”

The next punch comes from Super Timothy. Batman goes down. Slaycroft orders that Batman is to be executed.

Jeepers creepers, how is dang ol’ Batman getting out of this pickle?!

Final Thoughts

The thrilling conclusion awaits! But there are more important matters to attend to immediately…