Hench Life

When I was growing up, my parents were always the really understanding kind of people, which frankly kind of drove me nuts. It seems like nothing I did would faze them, they all just took in stride as “part of growing up” or were interested in “encouraging my uniqueness” or whatever.

I grew my hair out long, which was quite the rebellious act considering the strict dress code my school district had at the time. “Oh, you look just like your father did in the sixties,” my mom tells me.

I grow a goatee, and all that happens is that my parents get me a beard and mustache trimmer for my birthday.

I get a tattoo, and all they can do is comment on what a lovely shade of purple that Decepticon insignia is.


So I decided to do the one thing that I was certain they could never spin into something positive, the one thing that I was absolutely sure that they could never view as a good thing… That’s right, I decided to be a super villain’s henchman.

Now this is not as easy as it sounds. You can’t just walk right into a villain’s hideout and say “Hey, where can I sign up?” That’s why they’re secret hideouts, their location is a secret. And even if you happen to know where their hideout is, you really can’t get into the gang unless you know someone who’s already in there, and I’m not really one that runs around in the criminal mastermind circuit.

And even if you know where the hideout is, and know someone who can put in a word for you, there’s still other criteria you have to meet to get in. It’s like joining a Las Vegas dance show, you have to have a certain body type, etc. etc. Like Two-Face… Only hires identical twins. Poison Ivy? Only hires chicks. Joker? Well he pretty much hires anyone, but he has a tendency to kill ’em. Anyway, you get the idea.

So the best I could come up with was joining the gang of some wannabe villain who was calling himself The Jaywalker. He had blinking crosswalk signals on each shoulder, and we all had gray T-Shirts that said “DONT WALK” in all caps red letters. OK yeah, in retrospect that’s an incredibly stupid super villain theme, but I was to awestruck by the sheer fact that I had managed to get myself into a super villain gang to really care.

So we were meeting in his “secret hideout” (Honestly I think it was just his mother’s basement or something) one day, and he was outlying his “master plan.” His master plan was to tie up traffic in downtown during rush hour by staging a massive coordinated jaywalking spree that would bring everything to a standstill and make countless people late in getting home.

Once again, in retrospect this seems rather silly since we weren’t going to steal any loot or anything…

But just as he gets done explaining his scheme, this Danny Elfman music starts up out of nowhere, and we’re just looking around wondering where its coming from, when all of a sudden there’s this “PSHEW! *Chock!*” sound, and there’s a zip line embedded in the table!

Then BATMAN comes zooming down the zip line through the window, and full on smashes his feet into The Jaywalker’s face at full speed, just spinning him in place like a top!

So he gets his bearings back just in time for Batman to grab him by the collar and just start whaling on him. “Wait!” he’s screaming, “I give up! Oh god, why are you doing this to me! OW! Mah knews! Joo brooc mah knews!” But Batman just keeps hitting him, and hitting him, and hitting him! And then he finally looks over at the chalkboard that has the master plan on it, and figures out that we’re just a jaywalking syndicate or whatever.

So he drops our fearless leader in a bloody heap on the floor, and then turns towards us, and… gave us a very stern talking-too.   About how every law is worth heeding, and by breaking the little ones it only leads on the path to breaking the bigger ones, and how every sin is equal in the eyes of god (Which, in light of the fact that I found out he was Jesus, makes a lot more sense), and all that.

So as he’s pulling out his little grappling hook gun thingy to take off, I just had to ask a question that had been bugging me.

“Hey Batman, wait… If all crimes are equally bad, aren’t you just as bad as the villains then? I mean, you just committed assault at the very least just now, and I’m sure most places have laws against vigilante justice, to say nothing of the fact that I doubt your car is street legal, and certainly isn’t licensed and registered, and–”

I don’t really know what happened next, but I came out of my coma three weeks later with bandages on my face.

And THAT’S what happened to my nose. So stop asking.