Naturally, I’m upset by this. I mean, what did he do? He was sitting in my box of office memorabilia which I’d repeatedly said not to open because it was organized. And what happened? Batman opened it. To see if there was anything cool we could put around the apartment. First of all, I’m offended. Of course there was cool stuff. The whole box is filled with random shit that probably shouldn’t have been allowed in the cubicle to begin with. And secondly, no, I don’t think my rubber-band ball needs a place of honor on our dust covered furniture. Thanks.
But still, he opened it. Because Batman does what Batman wants to do. I’m not sure what he was searching for but I’ll tell you what he didn’t find. Binder Clip Man, positioned perfectly in the bottom corner and standing on his little T-pin legs. Had Batman seen him, and not so carelessly shuffled my items, my little office mate I’d kept alive for three years might not have ended up one T-Pin down and his notebook paper head severed from his little binder clip body. But it’s too late now. No future generations of office supply men for this girl. That dream has sailed. And, like, what do I tell Mrs. Binder Clip when she asks why he hasn’t come home? That he’s been decapitated? By Batman? Yeah, there’s no hallmark card for that. Sorry, but your husband’s dead because of Batman’s retardation.
I’ve already ordered an emergency surgery and in the midst of the chaos, another T-pin leg was lost. Thanks. You can put down the remaining pieces and leave my shit alone now. I’d arrange a funeral for my dear friend, but seeing as it’d be me and the murderer, it probably won’t happen. I’ll say goodbye by burying pieces of him in the box meant for precious memories. Damn right I’m still mad, Batman.