Robin is enjoying a nice cup at coffee at his favorite Gotham shop when he sees a huge black truck pull up.There is a blue and black American flag flying on the left, while a Trump flag rises like a specter of doom from the right of the bed. The door opens, and Batman climbs out. He is decked out in his heavy assault body armor, but now there are little Trump heads dotted all over the front of it, as though some dumb bastard gave a toddler a bunch of Trump stickers and told them to go to town. As he enters the coffee shop, some people audibly gasp. Batman marches up to the counter, sits down on a stool, and barks at the barista.
"White mocha, on the double. Hurry it up, honey. My taxes are subsidizing your poverty-level wages."
Robin chokes a little bit when he hears this. He knows Bruce hasn't paid any income taxes in about four years.
A little boy comes up to Batman and asks for his autograph. The Batman shakes his head, sighs, and then scribbles something on a napkin before handing it to the kid.
"Batman? Why does this napkin say 'get a job?'"
"Because I'm done doing handouts. When I was your age, my parents were gunned down before me. What do you think I did after that? I got my ass up and started working. Let that be a lesson to you."
"Is the lesson capitalism destroys your capacity for empathy?" asks Robin, coming over to the kid's defense.
"Oh Jesus, I didn't know you were here," says Batman.
"It's been a while, hasn't it? What's up with the redneck ride out there?" asks Robin.
"I don't want anyone to mistake my political stance on anything, anymore," replies Batman.
"That's why you're covered in Trump stickers?"
"I want him to be the last thing criminals see before I destroy their faces," says Batman.
"Your feet are firmly planted on the road to fascism. Fuck democracy, eh?"
"The United States is a republic, not a democracy."
"We're a democratic republic. A republic is just a representative government. Did you get that from Fox News or something?"
"Robin, our culture is about to be destroyed. There's no holding back. If we don't act now, there won't be an America to wake up to!"
The mocha arrives, and Batman tries to swig it down like a beer, but it's too damn hot, and he spits most of it back at the barista, who cries and runs to the back.
"The ends justify the means, is what you're saying. You and your ilk are ready to burn it all down because of the increasing social liberalism of society, even though you could hide in your country clubs and five star dinners with the rest of the rich parasites and never even encounter a minority. Christ, Bruce, you're not some country bumpkin. You're the one percent. You're not supposed to fall for this brainwashing."
Batman smiles. The mocha has painted a mustache on his upper lip.
"Who says I'm falling for anything?"
He gets up, throws some change on the counter, and flips off the rest of the clientele before throwing a few crotch chops their way. As he burns out of his parking spot, the air is filled with thick diesel fumes that linger like a malevolent spirit.
"I'm the head fucker of Fuck-You-America!" screams the Batman as he tears down the road. "So fuck you!"
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