Write a short Batman story here.

Alfred, I hope this communication gets to you in time. The cacophony of bells is deafening. I've been snared by the Joker, and time is running out.

It was the stench that tripped me up. Apparently, an ingenious concoction of Poison Ivy's that was designed to be undetectable to everyone, but me. As I was unknowingly trailing an unbearable odor, it made it easy for my enemies to track me, though not pleasant.

Thankfully, Robin is almost fully recovered from Bat-Mite's unfortunate "assistance". Once again, he took my partner's name a little too literally, transmogrifying him into a giant bird. To make matters worse, the gender was swapped, and I hope Dick doesn't remember reproducing.

The damaged axle caused the Batmobile to fly madly out of control. I'm afraid it will take your expertise to get her back on the road, Alfred. She may be on the lifts for weeks.

However, my predicament is paramount, as I'm currently snared in this bell tower, and the chimes are close to causing irreparable harm to my eardrums. Please hurry, old friend, as the Joker has once again escaped.

It was a dark and stormy night.
Suddenly a shot rang out.
A maiden screamed.
A door slammed.
Suddenly a pirate ship appeared on the horizon.
As he touched her hand she sighed.
And they all lived happilly ever after,
except Tommy Tomorrow who received a well-deserved
punch in the face from James C. Taylor.
The End.

Credit where due; original inspiration:
http://goodcomics.comicbookresources.co ... ealed-273/

"So clearly, your honor, this man has to be insane." Ben Matlock pointed at Bruce Wayne. "And as such, control of his assets need to be put in the hands of a receiver until such time as a guardian can be appointed." As he sat down, Perry Mason rose and strode toward the handsome billionaire.

"Mr. Wayne, you've heard testimony to the effect that you're insane. I'd like to go over the points that were made with you. First, it was pointed out that you dress up like a bat. Is that correct?"

"Yes. But Lady Gaga wore a dress made out of meat, so I think a bat costume is a pretty sane choice, relatively."

"And you spend your nights capturing criminals."

"So do the police."

"But Mr. Wayne, they get paid."

"I'm already rich. I don't need to be paid to do the right thing."

"All right. But you devote almost all of your time and energies to stopping criminals. Isn't that monomaniacal?"

"A monk or a priest or an inventor or a scientist devote all their energies to their passions and no one for a moment would think that made them insane. My passion is making sure that as few children have to endure what I endured as possible. That's not insanity. That's a calling."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. No further questions, your honor."

I remember that story, and remember recognizing the source material immediately. Good to see that at least one of 'ol Banana Nose's stories made the big time.

Note: The following is an excerpt from Dennis O'Neill's 2003 book The Dark Knight Revelations. In it O'Neill describes how the "Secret Star," a covert organization within the NYPD, helped to recover--and conceal--evidence of Batman activity in New York during the 1960s and 1970s.

Gordon’s “Secret Star” organization had one of its biggest tests in the fall of 1969. It began with Officer Dave Fells, a Secret Star member, learned that police investigating reports of a shooting and vehicle crash in midtown Manhattan had found a mysterious wrecked motorcycle. “Dave called me at my place immediately,” former NYPD police detective Theodore Blakely recalled. “I was pretty grouchy at being rousted out of bed at four a.m.! When he explained to me what he was calling about I got going.

“I arrived on the scene at a quarter to five. Dave was already there. So was Sam Olson, another “Star”. The cops on the scene had swept the wreckage aside. Sure enough, it was midnight purple, like Batman’s gear. They were just getting ready to haul it away. We did some fast talking and bluffing and managed to persuade the guys on the scene to let us take over. We got the thing to the warehouse where Gordon had arranged to have us store incriminating evidence just as dawn was breaking.

“Once there we gave it the once-over. It didn’t look like standard Bat-gear. Bats always had beautifully finished stuff. This looked like a stock bike, that somebody had given a quick amateur paint job. It wasn’t even a very impressive bike. Just a Honda CB-77. One of the most common bikes in the world at that time. It was in pretty good shape. All it had was a case of road rash and a bullet hole in the windshield.

“Somebody had filed off all the serial numbers that would have helped to identify it. I started wondering if it was really Batman’s bike at all. He wasn’t usually seen on a motorcycle. But that copycat, the one they called Batgirl, was. Looked like the Bat-chick had had a really close call that night.

“Next day Jim Gordon finally got a chance to come see the thing. I tell you, Jim turned white as a ghost when he saw the bullet hole in the windshield. He had this look on his face like a mom who’s just seen her kid nearly run over in the street. When I told him we were starting to contact Honda shops in the area to try to trace the bike, he told us not to waste our time. We weren’t going to look into this any further. Just put the bike in storage. So we did, and that was that.

“Two years later, we hit the jackpot—an honest-to-goodness Batmobile. Now that was a job to recover and conceal! Good thing we’d already gotten some experience with that Bat-bike, or whatever it was.

“Funny thing, but in 1970 we recovered another wrecked “superhero” motorcycle. This one was supposedly being used by that Spider-Man guy. Yeah, that’s right, Gordon had us monitoring him too. It had a completely different paint job. But it was another stock CB-77, just like the first one. Guess you meet the weirdest people on a Honda.”

Batman silently enters the room, his presence revealed only by his eyes, almost glowing in the dark...