Batman Eats a Taco: Part One

Last year when I went to San Diego Comic-Con I tweeted that I hoped to see someone dressed as Batman eating a taco. A simple joke that has become an all-consuming OBSESSION. Convention after convention, I failed to see a Batman in the wild eating a taco so eventually Steve Petrucelli and Sarah Boyle set up an awesome staged photo. The very talented artist Jade Gordon made me the lovely painting below. And now, I’ve decided to write a piece of fan fiction that, let’s be honest, borders on Batman/taco slash fiction. One of the unlocked goals of my Patreon project is writing stories with cliffhangers. I’ll leave the hero dangling and your votes will determine the outcome! Please enjoy “Batman Eats a Taco: Part One.” For maximum enjoyment, read aloud in your deepest, throat-bleedingest Batman voice!

I am Batman.

I am vengeance. I am the night. I am hangry.

I know, I know. Hangry is a stupid word and normally I would karate chop you in the throat if you were even thinking about infantilizing the English language like that, but, dammit, it’s the perfect word for how I feel.

When I first heard Robin say the word “hangry,” I was mystified. But I am the world’s greatest detective, so after running the word through the Bat-Computer, I determined it’s a portmanteau of hungry and angry.

“Damn,” I said softly to myself. “Hungry + Angry = Batman. That’s me. I’m Batman.”

I am a brooding creature of the night motivated by a compulsive need for vengeance. I am always angry.

I’m also hungry a lot because I’m always exercising. I hang upside down from stone gargoyles. That is a huge abs workout. I swing from rooftops, I martial arts ALL THE TIME, I burn calories just from clenching my jaw SO SUPER HARD.

But I’m always working so I don’t have a lot of time to snack. And I can’t be seen eating in public. I need to strike terror in the hearts of criminals. I can’t emerge from the shadows sucking on an Orange Julius. That just makes me look like a constipated a-hole. I have an image to maintain.

It’s not fair. Other heroes can eat all the time. Superman can fly over the White House deep throating a hot dog and everyone just shouts “Woo! ‘Merica!” Aquaman can telepathically boss fish around. He can tell shrimp to swim into his face. No one cares. What happens in the ocean, stays in the ocean. Wonder Woman looks strong and elegant no matter what she does. I saw her going to town on an Arby’s Roast Beef N’ Cheddar once and wanted to sculpt a statue of it.

But can Batman get his eat on? No. But that changes. Tonight. Right now.

There’s a new psychotic villain in Gotham obsessed with fast food restaurants. He was deeply disfigured when he fell into an industrial sized vat of pink slime. It turned his whole body bright red. He dresses up as an angry cow and shoots people with milk guns. Calls himself DEATH COW. Very hard to take him seriously.

BUT word on the street says he’s knocking over the Taco Bell on 4th street tonight.

I’m hanging upside down from a stone gargoyle outside this surprisingly gothic Taco Bell. There he is now. The DEATH COW. Waving his milk guns around like an idiot! My soul growls for justice and my stomach growls for Mexican food.

I swing through the glass window, shattering the ad for the Cool Ranch Doritos Taco Loco. I quickly take out DEATH COW’s low-rent goons. A jab to a kidney. An elbow to a nose. A roundhouse kick to a clavicle. I throw a batarang through another one’s nose ring, pin him to the wall, and smash him over the head with a straw dispenser. I AM SO HANGRY!

DEATH COW whirls toward me, mooing in fury. He sprays acid milk at me. I roll out of the way. It looks cool. I grab him by his stupid udders and throw him head first into the soda machine. I smile as his world explodes into a dark reality of pain and Diet Mountain Dew.

I turn toward the pimply-faced Taco Bell employees. They cower in fear. I don’t care. I don’t want their appreciation. I want their tacos.

I throw down several bat-smoke pellets. The Taco Bell punks cough and cover their pot-smoking bloodshot eyes.

I leap over the counter, my cape billowing. It looks really cool.

There they are. Waiting for me. Tacos. Tens of them.

The smoke is already clearing. I can hear the sirens in the distance. I have only seconds for the most important decision I’ve made in years.

“Soft shell or hard shell?” I mumble desperately.

“SOFT SHELL OR HARD SHELL??” I scream into the night.

I wait for the darkness to answer.

TO BE CONTINUED!

Will Batman get his taco? Will he be caught in the act? Is his love of violence really morally justifiable? Will he choose soft shell or hard shell? Readers decided by tweeting me their votes! To see their conclusion, read the exciting conclusion here! Also, if you enjoyed the story, you can make more ridiculous shit like this possible by supporting me on Patreon! Thanks!