A Story of Juvenile Wish Fulfillment

Everyone likes my mom.

This comes with much befuddlement on the parts of myself, my brother, and my father, because we all think she’s absolutely insufferable. Picture a manic-depressive that never has a depressive phase, and instead replaces it with a superiority complex the size of the western hemisphere, and that pretty much sums up my mom.

My theory is that everyone who likes her does so because they never had to live with her. For instance, way back when the internet was something of an oddity to have in the house, my mom had a friend over and showed her the wonders of Netscape 1.14. She clicked on the back button, the computer froze, and the first thing she did was turn around and yell at me, “WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Never mind that I was sitting on the other side of the room at the time!

“Yes, dear mother. I used my psychokinetic ability to lock up the computer just to make you look silly today.”


But anyway, lots of people like my mom, and she seems to know an awful lot of people in high places. These people all want to be her friend and give her stupid little gifts when she did them favors with their printing needs (My parents owned and operated a print shop back then), which she’d either use or barter for even better gifts.

One of these times, she managed to get us tickets to the Academy Awards as designated seat fillers or something.

And as much as my mom drives me nuts, you gotta admit that’s pretty damned cool. So I got to rent a tux, and go rub elbows with anonymous faces in the same room as celebrities.

Now remember about ten years ago when the Oscars were broadcast that they’d have all the dance and musical numbers and everything? Well, it turns out they still do those, they just don’t broadcast it anymore because people decided *Gasp!* It’s boring!

‘Course that’s coming from a guy that hates musicals, so take that as you will.

Also, what they show you on TV is a tiny little portion of the entire award show. They save all the big ticket stuff for last, and make you sit through the penny ante stuff for hours on end. They have a category for every little minute detail of film production and then some, be it best catering or best extra in the background drinking a cup of tea.

Hell, I got nominated just for showing up.

But yeah, the show is looooooooooooooooooooooong, and about half way through we still hadn’t gotten to the interesting stuff that people on TV would be watching, and I was starting to doze off. And even worse, they dragged it on at regular intervals by having some song and dance number saluting the greatest cold cut platter to ever be served at a production site or something.

I was about ready to kill myself.

So I was spacing out when the lights dimmed again, signaling the start of another round of “entertainment” on the stage, when the announcer started up with “Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Joel Schumacher!”

The music started up and there was a smattering of applause, but mostly everyone just looked confused. We were expecting showgirls with feathers on their head and sequined jumpsuits, not Joel Schumacher. And they didn’t announce any award that he would be presenting either, which was also kind of weird.

So Joel strolled up to the podium and just kind of stared at the blank teleprompter for a few seconds. “They told me that I was going to be presenting an award tonight, but we seem to be having some technical difficulties at the moment.”

He laughed nervously.

While he was up there, blinded by the spotlights and trying to cover for what he thought was a technical malfunction, who should rappel down the back of the stage, silent as a mouse?


The moment Batman landed, he whirled around and put a finger to his lips so that no one would acknowledge his presence there. There were smiles to be had all throughout the audience, which only encouraged Schumacher to think he was actually being funny with his little off-the -cuff anecdote he was telling.

What was the anecdote? Who cares, it was Joel Schumacher. Couldn’t have been that interesting if I don’t remember it.

So Batman ever so quietly tip-toed up behind Schumacher, until you were certain that he had to feel Batman’s breath on the back of his neck. Then, quick as a flash, BAM! Batman belts him one in the kidneys!

Schumacher let out a little sissy girl scream of pain as he slumped over the podium in pain. Batman grabbed him, hoisted him above his head, then tossed him against the stage dressing where he landed on his head.

Batman covered the distance between them in a single bound, and then proceeded to deliver the most savage beating I have ever witnessed in my life. All you could see was Schumacher’s flailing limbs amidst a frenzy of punishing blows from Batman’s cape, and the constant movement of his cape.

Eventually Batman ceased his brutality, and leaned over and whispered something into Schumacher’s ear for a moment. Schumacher merely nodded, then Batman hoisted him up and helped him back over to the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” gurgled Schumacher, looking out over the crowd with swollen eyes, blood streaming from his nose, and teeth missing from his mouth, “It has come to my attention that my previous work may have offended some of you. I would like to take this chance to apologize for my transgressions.”

Batman merely stood behind him, nodding sternly.

“I apologize for taking Tim Burton’s masterfully crafted vision of Gotham City, and reducing it to a tacky, neon-clad, black light-lit dystopian Las Vegas of the future from a crappy pulp sci-fi magazine.

“I am sorry that I reduced the character of Bane to a muscle-bound imbecile with no lines, and that I made Batgirl the granddaughter of Alfred.

“I am deeply regretful that I ever agreed to a script that featured a ‘Bat Visa’ credit card.

“I am completely remorseful that my wardrobe selection for the Riddler ever saw the light of day.

“I am mortified to think that at one point I believed that my hack-job of a resume in any way qualified me to take the reins of a venerable franchise such as Batman.

“In short, I apologize for everything that I’ve done, and promise to never again so much as even go and see a Batman movie.”

He paused for a moment, and the audience let the words sink in. Before we had much time to contemplate their meaning though, he continued.

“But I still don’t think the nipples on the costumes were so baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaOH GOD! MY SPINE!”  For at that very moment, Batman had ripped his backbone out of his torso, tied it in a pretty bow, and put it on his head.

So then the music struck up again, partly to drown out Schumacher’s cries of “OH CHRIST! OH JESUS! WHY?! WHY GOD?! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?!” as the staff dragged his broken form off the stage while Batman took a bow before a standing ovation.

I didn’t really pay attention to the rest of the show, but that alone made it the best damned award show ever, I tell you.