Bat-Man and Mr. Right, by Michael Davis
Above Gotham City, Bat-Man looked down at the two hoods. From his vantage point they could not see him, nor could they hear him as the sounds of their hurried footsteps and thoughts of their impending criminal act drowned out all sounds real or imagined. Bat-Man swung above them watching, waiting for what he knew was coming. True to his instincts, the two men settle on a victim. The middle-aged man had no idea that he was about to be robbed. Then again, the two thugs had no idea they were going to be beaten… badly.
“Hey, buddy.” One of the criminals said. The middle-aged man turned around. His eyes went immediately to the gun the man was holding. The two gangsters smiled, they loved the fear in the marks eyes. “You know what this is. Give us your money.” The victim’s name was Larry Wright. His friends call him “Mr. Right” with an “R.” That’s because he is so right wing and so conservative. Mr. Right has a lot of friends, but too bad for him none of his friends were there to help him. As if they would. No, he was alone… or so he thought.
“Did you not hear me?” The man with the gun shouted. “Give us your money!” Mr. Right could not move. He could not understand why he could not move or speak. He was frozen. Why could he not simply hand the man his wallet? Was he scared? How could that be? He was Mr. Right he was the man who speaks out he was not scared of anything.
The man with the gun yelled as he walked towards Mr. Right with the gun leveled between the frozen man’s eyes. “Hey. Faggot! I’m taking to you.”
Somehow, Mr. Right found his voice. “I’m not a faggot.”
Without a sound, Bat-Man dropped onto the two thugs. With one swift move he disarmed the gunman with his Batarang while kicking the other man with a roundhouse that almost took his head off. The disarmed gunman launched himself at Bat-Man. Bat-Man smiled as he drove his right fist into the gunman’s face and, immediately, his left fist into his stomach. The force of one blow bent the man over the other stood him upright again.
Bat-Man placed his right leg behind the mugger and a right hook tripped him over his leg. He landed hard on the pavement. Mr. Right watched the entire thing from a corner, coming out only when Bat-Man had secured the two men with Bat-rope.
Bat-Man did not look at Mr. Right when he said. “You’re not gay.” “Pardon?” Mr. Right said in response to Bat-Man’s strange comment. Now staring right at Mr. Right, Bat-Man repeated “You’re not gay. You said you are not a faggot, you meant to say. You’re not gay.”
“What difference does it make?” Mr. Right said, with anger in his voice.
Bat-Man looked at Mr. Right for a long moment. “The same difference as me not showing up here. To me and the rest of the world you being mugged or killed would mean nothing, but to you it would have made a great deal of difference.”
Bat-Man looked at Mr. Right, who said nothing. A few moments later he drifted into the shadows leaving Mr. Right alone. Alone until he got home to his gated community and continued to try his best to impose his will on others, because that’s what the Right does.
I’m not gay. I have no desire to be with a man. There is not a single thing I can think of that would excite me about seeing another man butt naked. Hell, when I saw Brokeback Mountain I was a wee uneasy during the love scenes. The thought of two men “doing it” is a sure way to get me out of the mood.
I went to The High School Of Art & Design, the greatest high school in the world. The school is in midtown Manhattan and every year we had a “field day.” The entire school went to Central Park and just hung out. I was to meet some friends at the Central Park Zoo but I got lost (Central Park is HUGE and Stevie Wonder has a better sense of direction than me) and ended up in a part of the park called “The Ramble.” It was June and as I walked I noticed that there were a lot of people on the field sunbathing. Then I noticed that it was ALL men. Most of these guys were in bathing suits and oiled up.
I then realized that I was in the middle of hundreds of gay men. Gay men who all seemed to me to be looking at my 17 year old tight ass. That’s an important point. I have a great ass. I mean great. I also lived in the hood and gay meant “faggot,” so I was in fight mode.
I knew some cool gay guys from School, but this was not school and I was alone in the midst of what my brain was telling me was Penis Town. I had to get out of there but I didn’t know where to go. I looked left, right, east, west everywhere and I could not figure out where to go. I started to get really frustrated because being lost is a real big deal to me. I HATE BEING LOST. How bad is my sense of direction? I once looked for my car for three hours. I had parked it the night before… at my apartment complex. Thatbad.
“You need some help?” The voice was from a gay black guy who was wearing a Speedo – a TIGHT Speedo – and he had more oil on him than Exxon. He also had a superhero body; I mean this guy was cut. I had never seen a body like this except in muscle magazines.
He was cute, too.
None of this helped my over active imagination. I’m now thinking that I was about to be gang raped out in the open by Black Oedipus and his boys.
“You need some help?” He asked again. I managed to say in my hard tone of voice “I’m looking for the Zoo.” He said; “Oh that’s easy.” He told me where to go and I started to leave then he asked me “You want a soda?” Hey, it was June in New York City, it was really hot. I mean HOT. I thought about it and I said “Sure.” He went into a cooler and produced an ice-cold coke. “Thanks,” I said and flipped opened the tab. “My name is Raymond.” He told me. I wanted to say My name’s Mad Dog the Gay Guy Killer. But I said; “ I’m Michael.” “Have a seat Mike, we won’t bite.”
This, I now realize, was a defining moment in my life. Three women raised me. Two of them met with violent death. Because of this, my mother told be there are much more important things in life than prejudice. So now was a time to decide what kind of man I would be. Would I be just another “hater” or would I do the right thing.
I sat down. I wanted to get to know this guy and I admit I was curious about the gay thing… and he had ice-cold soda!
Raymond, Brendon and Philip were the three guys I ended hanging with. Brendon and Raymond were huge Neal Adams fans and we had a light-hearted debate about who was better, Adams or Kirby. I took Kirby… duh. Gay guys like comics, who knew?
I had a great time with these guys they were just like any new friends. So great was the time I was having I was lying on my back when I looked up to see the guys I was to meet looking down at me.
“So Mike, why did you not tell us your were gay?” My friend Tony Tutt asked with a stupid smile on his face. Raymond answered by telling Tony “Because you have a flat ass.” That broke up everybody. So there we were three straight guys from the hood hanging out with a bunch of gay guys in the middle of Central Park. They turned out to just be real cool gay guys. We also never did get to the zoo; we were having way too much fun.
These gay men turned out to be just real cool guys. Just regular people.
Regular people. No different than you or me. No different at all.
So why in the hell should I or anyone else want to stop some regular people from being together in a marriage?
What is with “The Right” having problems with two consenting adults wanting to be married? This is a moral issue, not a political issue. If I have said it once I have said it a thousand times…
YOU CANNOT REGULATE MORALITY!
Now, to that God argument, I have two words for you: FREE WILL.
It is not my place or your place or anyone’s place to tell others how to live. Most gay people I know are decent people who are employed, pay taxes and contribute to this country in all sorts of productive ways. In other words, they are NOT a drain on society. Now I can point to more than a few groups of people whoare a drain on society but we let them get married. Hell, I can write a book on all the stupid ass people who we let get married. If you are a mass murderer and in jail for the rest of your life the state will let you get married.
What? So if Charles Manson with his crazy anti-social behavior, a man who clearly has no worth on this planet wants to get married we would let him, and we would pay for it.
That is just freaking NUTS! But we do it. I hear that Scott Peterson gets dozens of marriage proposals from women. We would allow some CRAZY BITCH get married to a man who killed his own wife and unborn child.
If you are one of those women who asked Scott Peterson to marry you, I apologize. I should not have called you a crazy bitch.
You are a STUPID ASS CRAZY BITCH.
I’m truly sorry to all the crazy bitches out there (Hillary supporters who will now vote for McCain thus ending your right to choose what you do with your bodies when he appoints the next two or three supreme court justices) for grouping you with those stupid ass crazy bitches that want to marry a convicted murderer.
If we let CLEARLY crazy people get married, then I can’t see why we can’t let clearly SANE people get married. Oh, do you think that gay people ARE crazy? Then let them get married, genius. You already let crazy people get married! YOU don’t have to go to the wedding, and I’m fairly certain you won’t be invited. So if you want, you can stay at home and play with your penis all by yourself while you listen to Rush Limbaugh on the radio. Now, there’s a Dick for you.
Hey, if you don’t think men should be with men or women with women then I respect that. I respect all points of view. I love bacon and have a few Jewish and Muslim friends who don’t eat pork. Fine. I do love me some pork. You know what they do when we go out to diner? They don’t order pork, that’s what. They also don’t tell me what to eat, they don’t care, and even if they did care they keep it to themselves and mind their damn business. YOU have NO right to tell anyone how to live his or her life. What makes anyone think they can tell anyone else how to live?
What are we missionaries, and gay people are some savage group that needs to march to the beat of ourdrum? How would you like it if I came to your home and told you whom to love or worst told you with a law that your love was illegal?
Let’s say you meet a gay man named Richard and he saves your life. What right do you have to tell Richard how to live the life he lives after he just saved yours? Far fetched? Not really, there are thousands of gay people who save lives everyday as policeman or women, paramedics, doctors, fire fighters, soldiers, etc.
So Mr. and Mrs. Right, you don’t know if a gay man or woman just saved your life.
You don’t know.
You don’t know Richard.
You don’t know Dick.
Hollywood media mogul and comics creator/artist Michael Davis appears here every Friday on ComicMix.