“Whatcha doin’ there, Batboy?” A bright voice entered young Bruce Wayne’s ear canal. He kept his eyes on his reading material as he responded.

“Reading, Bobbin Threadbare.”

“Wanking, more like it. You’re reading Playbat, you pervo! Holy smokes!” Just then Bobbin noticed something magical and revolutionary: a robin engaged in unspeakable acts with a bat. “It’s like…it’s like…”

“They’re trapeze artists, yes, I know, young Bobbin. Now leave me alone so I can read the articles.”

“Psssshh, no one ever reads the articles in those things. You know when you get a new box of Cracker Jacks and the first thing you do is bust it out that little toy waiting for you and play with it? Yeah, that’s how that fagazine of yours is.”

The quiet room somehow grew quieter in the following moments of awkwardness.

“Fagazine, Bobbin? Is that what you said?” Batboy’s steel gaze pierced through Bobbin’s composure. There was no response.

“Answer me.”

“I…I didn’t mean it that way, Batboy. Honestly! I pass no judgement!”