This week, we find our heroes, Batman, Spiderman and Wonder Woman at a party in East Los Angeles. The season is Summer. The temperature, high. Sugar intake, even higher…
The party had devolved into madness pretty quickly. The parents had rented out the lot of an old airplane hanger. They filled it with one of the more elaborate Play Place’s I’ve ever seen. Kids were lost for the entire party in the dark recesses of it’s intricate and overly complicated obstacle course; more than one child lost their top layer of skin jumping down the black rubber slide, which had been expertly placed to take in all of the 95 degree summer sun. At one point, a child climbed out of the ball pit and promptly vomited at my feet. Because of the bowls of candy at their disposal, his vomit was neon blue.
The heat wasn’t just getting to the kids, either. Us super heroes were feeling the effects, as well. I’m sure the real Batman could have had Morgan Freeman install an air-conditioning unit in his suit, or a sprinkler system, something to combat the East LA summer. Alas, I’m not the real Batman and I don’t have Morgan Freeman’s number. All my suit consists of is layer upon layer of thick, black rubber. For a Olympic wrestler cutting weight, perfect. For an actor trying to maintain control as six-year-old, Cesar’s birthday party slowly spirals into chaos -not so much.
When my partner, a delirious and blinded-by-his-own-costume, Spiderman accidentally punched a child in the face while attempting to demonstrate web-slinging, we knew it was time to leave. Only one problem: we needed to get paid and Birthday Boy’s dad was nowhere in sight. In fact, there weren’t many parents around at all. It was me, Spiderman and Wonder Woman, and thirty six-year-olds running around, hopped up on sugar and their new party favors: BB guns. Yes, someone decided it was a good idea to pump a bunch of six-year-olds full of sugar, give them all BB guns and then promptly leave the premises. Yay!
With my body increasingly on the verge of over-heating, I sifted through the mass of lil’ gangstas and their BB guns to look for dad. At this point, my vision began to get blurry (mostly due to the mixture of my sweat and the black paint I wear around my eyes to make Batman look dark and mysterious). Of course, Batman, teetering back and forth, drunk on heat, made great target practice for their new party favors.
Somehow I made it to the back of the airplane hanger without dying. And, what’s that…
There’s dad! I found him! Finally, we can get paid and leave this madness! Oh wait, he’s not alone. He’s standing in a circle with some Birthday Clowns. And they’re blowing coke. That’s fun.
After one of the more awkward money exchanges I’ve ever experienced, we were on our way. Batman and Spiderman had survived to fight another day.
Sssshhh, no… Wonder Woman was never with us. We didn’t leave her behind, no way.
…Sometimes freedom requires sacrifice. Justice League, ho!
Editor’s note: We are fully aware that Batman and Spiderman are of different Universe’s and really have no right to be at a party together. Just be glad this party wasn’t Anakin vs. Darth Vader.