It was a good thing that I was wearing my Batman pajamas.
Then again, at what possible moment would one not say such a thing? They really can be worn as everyday clothing. I know.
You think that I might be joking... but I do not joke about such things. Batman is very serious, some say too much so.
I purchased these as a piece of full body apparel at the suggestion of a chick. I believe that she believed that they contained some special magic.
Though, now I mostly lurk and linger, too long in my lair.
I'm a Batman that consumes much coffee and needs a fresh back-shave. There must be many like me.
I would take a picture of myself, to post here, but I am too lazy to unpack a real camera and am rarely happy with the images from an iPhone. I mean, they're fine, but they're just not up to snuff for Bruce Wayne. There are many photo opportunities here in the Wayne Manor. Or the Arkham Asylum... Downton Abbey at midnight.
I don't really give a shit about comic book lore. I just run out of things to catalog and confess to in my own life.
I've been into some pretty heavy role playing lately, though.
I have been pretending to achieve the largest erection of which I am capable for a mid-1970's Lynda Carter. Then, presenting it to her in an honest, visual way. Hoping that from this offering she will intuit my intentions and respond in an appreciative and accommodating manner. Or, at least not scream, acting as if I have somehow done something wrong.
I have carefully worked this all out in my mind.
It is a trick of Darwinian development that the sight of male genitalia does not more adequately arouse females in the local vicinity. Mating rituals are a practice designed to confuse, for all involved. What I have learned is that you still must give careful credence to them. A male's indication of willingness to mate is rarely perceived as such, or not just as such. How are we left to contend with the perennial mysteries of existence.
Have I explained what an erection is here yet?
Perhaps that is a post for another time.
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