Aaaaaand we’re back!
You thought the Batman interview trilogy was over, didn’t you? (admit it, you did) But it’s far from done, I’m having too much fun with it, and there are so many awesome characters left to explore.
The Empty Chair doesn’t feed itself, you know (#premise) and Gotham is still a fucking mess.
Anyway, you’re probably wondering how I escaped from Poison Ivy given the dire situation in which my last interview appeared to end…
I was wearing rubber lips.
Yeah, yeah, I know it’s lame, but it worked in that ‘Batman & Robin‘ crap-fest, and it’s a convenient plot device, deal with it!
So I didn’t die, I got phone reception at last, then Batman saved me, yadayada – who cares? We’re done with that story.
You may be wondering where this series is heading now, and I can assure you, I haven’t the slightest idea. I mean, the trilogy thing worked pretty well and had a fairly decent conclusion, right?
Today I’m off to find ‘The Condiment King’.
“Who?” I hear you ask. He’s only one of the most ruthless villains to ever stalk the streets of Gotham…
Ok, not really. He’s as lame as he sounds, but I’ve had my ass kicked twice by the A-lister villains and I feel like I need to take on someone a little more my speed.
Batman can’t keep saving my neck every time and I’m confident I can handle this dope should things get messy (which they will).
He may not be the most well-known Batman villain, but I think there’s a little more to the character than most give him credit for.
Hopefully we’ll find out soon enough…
I’ve parked myself inside a local Burger King (‘Hungry Jack’s’ to you bloody Australian readers). This seems the kind of place he might show up.
I don’t have to wait long, and sure enough, my oddball of choice makes an appearance…
“Nobody move! A shot of this Dijon in the eye and you’ll be sorry!”
He wields two condiment containers labeled mustard and ketchup which he aims threateningly in the direction of the restaurant’s bewildered and bemused customers.
His costume, I must say, is fairly well put together considering that he almost certainly used materials acquired from a fast food chain – multicolored (and horribly contrasting) shirt and trousers, red cap, checkered tablecloth cape – it all fits.
He may even be a former employee of this establishment; just some poor sap, sick and tired of his job and looking to stick it to his boss.
Yeah, that’s a decent backstory. Let’s go with that!
I decide to sit back for a while longer and watch the scene unfold. Already most of the diners have lost interest in this weirdo and usual service resumes. He frowns, clearly disappointed by the lack of reaction.
“Who wants some flavour?”
The Condiment King begins squirting his namesake haphazardly about the place to get their attention.
A stray shot almost hits a woman who jumps back with a yelp of mild annoyance.
Alright, it’s time to step in…
“Whoa, careful now. You could ruin someone’s clothing with those!”
The Condiment King turns towards me, a joyful grin on his pockmarked face.
“Ah, the intrepid interviewer-guy. I knew you’d ketchup to me sooner or later! How I’ve relished this meeting! You, the dynamic dark dufas, versus me, the conceptual Condiment King! Come, James, let’s see if you can cut the mustard…”
I’m beginning to see why he was never taken seriously as a character, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still have some fun.
“This is the end for you, Mustard Man, your reign is over! Never again will the citizens of Gotham cower before your condemnable condiment kingdom!”
The restaurant onlookers cheer enthusiastically at the spectacle before them, although it’s possible they think this is all just some sort of dining entertainment…
The Condiment King is not so easy dissuaded, it seems. He hurls a bottle of ketchup at me but I catch it before it can hit the floor and ruin my freshly polished footwear.
“It’s called tomato sauce!”
I throw it right back it him and it hits him squarely in the jaw, bursting open under the force of my mighty lob. Now covered in red paste, the Condiment King tries to regain his composure, but I’m one step ahead of him.
I grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him kicking and screaming towards the exit. With a final well-earned kick to the pants, I boot him out and onto the street where he belongs.
There’s a new king in town, baby…