Nothing changes around here.
Same villains, same tactics, same hangout every damn night.
I gave up being a bag-boy for this?
"Come with me, be my ward.", He said. "Defeating the evil that is rampant in the world is rewarding work."
And I fucking believed him.
What he didn't talk about was the long hours, the late nights, the "closeness" of the cave. He said there would be medical and dental, but I don't think having an Asian manservant who pulls my teeth qualifies under either. I asked to go to a real doctor when I injured myself loading his "utility belt" but he said that in the interest of maintaining our secret identities, it would be best to let it heal on it's own. Now there is no feeling in my arm and it's starting to smell like old cabbage.
He keeps feeding me shit about the secret identity too. It's not like I go out in costume, but he freaks whenever I hang out with my friends. "Evil never takes a break." he always says; but it takes a break when he wants to go to the movies, and someone has to stay and listen to the police scanner. Last time I was with my friends he had me ditch them to bust a shoplifter. (If I wanted to stop a twelve year old from stealing candy bars, I would have stayed at the old job.) I page him for a triple homicide and he's "busy". Like the nudie bar doesn't have another show on in fifteen minutes.
So instead of being with my friends, I get to hang out here. At least they've done some improvements; there is ice in the urinal now - very cosmopolitan - we used to just piss in the hole in the wall. They are even talking about putting cardboard over that broken window, so the wind doesn't blow in all the time.
I never hear any of the others complain. One of them is a mute - the boss always says he'd like to trade me in for that one - and the other guys don't really speak English. I asked to borrow the universal translator, but he said he needed it to "score with that green chick". I think that he believes I'll try to start a union. What union would want us? We can't pay dues, and none of us can put our real names on the union cards, anyway. The only guy who's for a union is the same guy who thinks short pants are the ultimate in high fashion.
I think I better go. He'll probably be done with the green chick by now, and looking for a shoulder to cry on. (Performance anxiety? - Ya think?) Hopefully I don't have to carry him again. The arm's still no good, and the smell seems to be getting worse.
Can you cover my tab until next time?
He spent all my allowance on knockout gas and aftershave.
I'll pay you back, I promise..