And the beast, in its contrived state of mystique, continuing to pontificate in mutterance to itself, seeming to enjoy the masturbatory nature of nonsense suspense, could not have foreseen what happened next.

The previously unmentioned storm clouds darkened overhead, the wind picked up, and, to vanquish the foul knave of unclear identity, swooped down our avenger of the night, Batman. With a sharp tug of his utility belt, the dark knight produced his Batarang and slung it vehemently at his churlish prey.

‘Uncertainty…no more,’ gruffly elicited from the knight’s perfect lips. If there was one thing the unthinkable medley of bat and man could not stand, it was uncertainty. Suddenly consumed in recollection, Batman’s thoughts turned to the inescapable conflicts in Robin and his newfound domesticity. Unable to complete even a simple omelette, this morning Batman had berated Robin for his culinary shortcomings. In fact, Batman was haunted by impotency. He decided it best to buy a bouquet on the flight home.