It has been many years since Batman began rescuing people in distress. Nigella had always wanted to be rescued by Batman. “Imagine that muscular hunk carrying me off in his arms,” declared Nigella.
Well one day Nigella had the heel of her high heels stuck in the crack of the New York pavement. She couldn’t move forward or back. “Help me, Batman!” called out Nigella.
About quarter of an hour later, Batman appeared. Nigella was outraged. Batman was old and fat. “I’m not going to be rescued by someone old and fat,” said Nigella. “Thank goodness there’s still Superman.”
“Suit yourself,” said Batman as he flew off. He was annoyed; he’d gone to great lengths. These days it was almost impossible to squeeze himself into all that spandex.
A speeding truck cold have done the job far more expeditiously. No spandex involved.
I’m starting to suspect you don’t believe in Batman.
Not since a bat bit my finger on the terrace of my paternal home many years ago. The local shrink gave me a shot of penicillin. I suspect I became myopic immediately after that.
What a greedy bat. You’d think it would have been more discerning. NZ has two native bats – they are tiny and very rare. I have never seen one, let alone been bitten or had my neck sucked by one.
I reckon a visit to Transylvania may be needed for the latter.
How ungrateful!
Some people!