Dustin Meadows

Comedy. Punk Rock. Werewolves.

Batman V Superman: Dawn Of The Rise Of The Planet Of The Force Awakens

THE FOLLOWING PIECE WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN AND PERFORMED FOR A DC COMICS EDITION OF "THE POP CULTURE MIXTAPE" ON MONDAY, MARCH 21ST, 2016.

EXT: Gotham City, Night.

 

Bat Affleck sits perched atop a gargoyle or what the fuck ever, surveying his city, ever vigilant in his never ending fight against crime. A fight that might be less never ending if he’d just kill his villains as opposed to slapping them on the wrist and throwing them in what has historically proven to be the revolving door correctional institute that is Arkham Asylum. You already wear a bat costume and jump on dudes off of rooftops without any sort of government sanctioned law enforcement authority, so why not just grow a pair and start killing dudes like the Joker, who are so far beyond redemption and who are so clearly guilty that he might as well have written a book bragging about how he would’ve done it like the Juggalo version of O.J. Simpson.

 

Something else is weighing on Bat Affleck’s mind tonight, however. He read the comments section on a trailer for his new movie, and lonely MRA nerds apparently got tired of threatening women on the internet long enough to make some riveting commentary on the casting decision of Affleck with such glaring insight as “Why is Warner Bros. raping my childhood?” and “This movie is gonna be teh suxxorz!” All these sad nerds shitting on the casting decision of the newest Batman, despite the fact that since tragic missteps like Reindeer Games and Gigli, Affleck has proven himself as a capable and powerhouse actor and director, and fuck anyone who says otherwise! The Town  was so good, you guys! So good!

 

Then Bat Affleck detects it. The unmistakable smell of a cherry lime vape pen, the scent of a flop sweat soaked fedora and the pointed cadence of a “Well, actually in the comic books!” and just like that, Bat Affleck dives off his perch and into the long cold stretch of night below as he drops to the city streets.

 

On the streets below, some mouth breathing MRA shit fuck has cornered a poor dark haired girl with glasses, her replete in a Return Of The Jedi t-shirt and all the splendor so often afforded only to sunsets and unicorns, and he replete in his dumpster fire personality and Cheetos stained fingers protruding from fingerless gloves because MRAs apparently have the fashion sense of people who like ska but also know all of the words to at least one Mudvayne album. “Okay, fake geek girl,” the MRA wheezed between mouthfuls of pizza rolls and flippant misogyny, “what are Superman’s real parent’s names? What’s Superman’s real name? In issue #75, what color is Jimmy Olsen’s shirt?”

 

“Leave me alone,” she responded. “I’m just trying to go home.”

 

“Why won’t you fuck me, you stupid bitch?” the MRA squealed, ignorant to the fact that his very existence was the answer to that awful question. “I’m a nice guy, you stupid whore.” he continued, completely oblivious to the fact that he was a virus with shoes. “Ugh, friend zoned again!” he cried, sucking his expensive vape pen the way a petulant child sucks their thumb when they don’t get their way. “Guess I’ll just go home and watch Family Guy, you fucking bitch.”

 

210 pounds of Affleck came crashing down on the MRA with a tremendous force, the kind of force that you wish you could use to power a roundhouse kick to all the dipshits in last week’s Ohio primary election who switched their registered party to Republican to vote “against Trump” instead of just, y’know, voting for the candidate that they fucking believed in.

 

“Get off me!” the MRA cried out. “I need to get home to tell women they don’t need make-up to look beautiful on Reddit and then turn around and tell them that wearing too much make-up makes them look like gigantic sluts!”

 

“I was so good in Gone Girl!” Bat Affleck shouted, bringing his powerful fists down into the MRA’s stupid face. “I won a fucking Oscar for Argo, goddammit!” Bat Affleck dropped a knee to the MRA’s crotch. “Smokin’ Aces? That was a good one, too!” Bat Affleck broke the MRA’s arms. “I could recite my filmography all night, you misogynistic piece of shit! Buffy The Vampire Slayer!” Bat Affleck drove his fists into the MRA’s midsection, the sound of crunching ribs punctuating his righteous fury.

 

“Wait, you were in Buffy The Vampire Slayer?” the dark haired girl with glasses asked, intrigued.

 

“Not the Joss Whedon television series, the movie version with Kristy Swanson and Pee Wee Herman!” Bat Affleck knife edge chopped the MRA and followed up with an obnoxious “Woo!”

 

“Oh, never mind then.” the dark haired girl with glases followed up.

 

“Fuck you! It’s a good movie! I’m sorry there aren’t gay witches and a bunch of teenagers talking and quipping the way that literally no teenager does, but some of your sacred cows are fucking bullshit! You hear that, Joss Whedon?” Bat Affleck screamed into the night sky of Gotham City. “Avengers 2 completely ignored the most important story elements laid out by Winter Soldier and Iron Man 3, and now the Afflecks are coming home to roost!”

 

The tell tale sound of Bat Affleck’s grappling gun registered the report that he was now making his exit.

 

“Wait!” the dark haired girl with glasses called out. “Don’t I even get to know your name?”

 

“IT’S FUCKING BEN AFFLECK! JESUS CHRIST, WHO ELSE WAS IN ALL THOSE FUCKING MOVIES I SAID BESIDES ME? DOGMA? NAILED IT! GOOD WILL HUNTING? NAILED IT! DAZED AND CONFUSED? YOU BET YOUR SWEET BIPPY!”

 

“Sorry,” she said. “Can I at least give you a kiss?”

 

“Save it for Spider-Man, you fucking nerd! And to all a good night, for truly, this was a DAWN OF JUSTICE!”

 

And with that, Bat Affleck disappeared into the sky, protecting the innocent from those who would prey upon the weak, defending the defenseless, and to unfortunately portray Batman in quite possibly the worst adaptation of Batman to date.

 

Plus that title is still the dumbest fucking thing in the world.