Introducing a new regular (that was a lie) segment where whatever random matchup that dominates my mindset on any given day gets a platform to shine! Or to not make any sense. Whatever the case may be, I’ve got nothing else fer ya.
To inaugurate this most prestigious occasion, in which I’m not quite sure what prestigious means, let’s pit two of the most popular heroes from Marvel and DC’s pantheon in a head to head death match, to the death.
In the Yellow and Brown corner is…Wolverine!
- Name: Wolverine AKA Logan AKA James Howlett AKA The short dude who says bub a lot AKA Wayne Gretzky.
- Age: Old enough to be Larry King’s grandson.
- Height: Extremely short, unless an artist forgets this. In which case he’s about 7’4.
- Powers: Mutant healing factor making him immortal. Adamantium claws making him essentially a robot. Fierce scowl making him America’s next top model.
- Pros: Tears people apart for little to no reason. Can never die, and has kicked Death’s ass for trying. Expert martial artist, who has such a fierce scowl.
- Cons: Extremely short, emotional, and Canadian.
And in the Black and Gray corner is…Batman!
- Name: Batman AKA ‘The’ Batman AKA Bruce Wayne AKA Matches Malone AKA Did you not read the last one?
- Age: Eternally mid-30’s.
- Height: Whatever Superman’s height it.
- Powers: Can do, like, so many push-ups. A world class detective. Has the uncanny ability to have planned for every contingency, no matter how many random coincidences come up. A fierce scowl making him Wolverine’s #1 rival.
- Pros: Is practically clairvoyant. Can do sit-ups. Kind of a jackass, but has a heart of gold (just like House!). Can do a roundhouse kick with the best of ’em. Shit ton of money. Scowl, baby.
- Cons: Possibly a pedophile. Just a dude who works out, really. Is currently stuck in time, like Scott Bakula and last season of Lost.
For a match like this to even happen, these two titans must somehow meet to begin with. I’d go through some fantastical scenario about cross-dimensional villainy hell bent on merging the universes into an uber-villainous one that eventually leads to the encounter, but because they’re just comic characters I’ll settle with they walked into a bar one night.
So Wolverine’s downing his favourite lager, the sweet nectar that is Canada’s Moosehead Light. Just minding his own damned business, which he is the best at. The Leafs game is on the tube so you know not to mess with this Canadian.
In from the rain comes a cloaked figure. Wolverine doesn’t give the figure a second thought, as he was too mesmerized by the Leafs’ rare 5 on 1 powerplay that was taking place. Rare in that it wasn’t allowed by the rulebooks, but was happening anyways. This cloaked figure revealed himself to be none other than The Batman, Gotham’s fearsome caped crusader. Plopping down next to Wolverine, Batman orders up a drink only he can sport with any authority – an appletini. Even Batman needed a minor respite from sewers and dark alleys. Preferably a sweet glass of sugary respite.
Wolverine noticed this, but he didn’t have time to care. The Leafs somehow let in seven goals during that powerplay, which is just as impossible as the powerplay itself. But it was the Leafs, afterall.
“Change the channel. Dancing With the Stars is on,” said Batman, in a gravelly voice. The bartender made his way to the dial, as this was an old TV.
“I don’t think so, bub,” snapped Wolverine, in a gravelly voice. The bartender stopped mid-twist. He knew something was about to go down, so he quietly exited.
“The NHL is a dying league,” rubutted Batman, in a gravelly voice.
“The only thing dying is you, bub,” threatened Wolverine, in a voice surprisingly pleasant. Both men stood in silence, scowls scowling. “Damn the sweet flow of Moosehead Light.”
“The Leafs are a dead end team, get over it,” said Batman, muscles tensing. Ready to pounce.
“Leafs Nation is the best at what they do, and what they do ain’t pretty, bub,” declared Wolverine, voice once again gravelly.
“No shit Sherlock. Maybe you outta switch over to Montre-” and Wolverine was on top of Batman before he could finish. Which was rather rude. With the expert Judo skills he learned from the greatest Japanese masters who were taught by himself when he was stuck in time, Batman hurled the laughably small and hairy man off of him. Despite being petite, Wolverine must have been three hundred pounds. Batman instinctively knew this man had adamantium lining his skeletal structure, despite adamantium not existing in the DC universe. How? Because he’s fucking Batman.
Wolverine spun onto his feet before landing, balling up both fists in a dashing, though strategically useless, pose. His claws erupted from his knuckles. Blood and tendons sprang forth from the open wounds before they healed.
“The hell? You okay there? That’s nasty,” asked Batman with concern.
“Don’t worry, it happens,” assured Wolverine. “Thanks for the concern, though. It’s refreshing to fight a nice guy once in awhile.”
“No, it was just pity for a Leafs fa-” and Wolverine was upon him again. Biting and clawing and kicking and what may have been a bit of farting. Batman could barely dodge the barrage, throwing chairs and bar patrons in the mad beast’s path. Despite being bulletproof, this little man’s claws still tore through Batman’s suit. He knew he should have worn the claw-proofed suit that night. He really should get onto making a suit resistant to both at once.
Wolverine was surprised how lithe this man was, despite wearing a ridiculous costume. Batman subconsciously called Wolverine the pot. Wolverine’s subconscious didn’t know what that meant. Batman’s subconscious called Wolverine’s costume the Leafs of the costuming worl- and Wolverine’s subconscious was on him!
The battle had transgressed past the mere physical, into the realm of the, er, non-physical! Muscle’s collided, psyches clashed. The battle was toe to toe, despite Wolverine having superior strength and reflexes. How this could be can be debated later. Batman always fights equally against his foes, despite having no powers in the least beyond the power of heart.
The bar was in ruins, the Moosehead Light flowed like a river from its destroyed barrows (yes, barrows). Neon signs dangled, bar stools stuck to the ceiling. A lone chandelier wondered what the fuck it was doing in a bar. If there ever was a God, he slept that night. The two men were exhausted. They knew one wrong move was enough to end them. Wolverine cinched left, his knees bending. Batman inched right, his left hand reaching for his last Batarang. The tension in the air was tangible, like the stench that encapsulates Amy Winehouse.
Just as both men began to make what could be their last moves, a voice from the back echoed out.
“And there it is folks, the Leafs have lost yet another game. The final tally? 13 to 2. The most depressing thing about this most atrocious of butt-kickings is that it comes as no surprise. Good night everyone.”
Wolverine was stunned into paralysis, the only movement a single tear shed from his right eye. Never letting a chance slip by, except for all those times he let the Joker live because of a rather idiotic no-kill policy despite realizing the Joker was the worst human alive, Batman soundly roundhouse kicked Wolverine, knocking the man into submission. Pointing to the air in thanks to Chuck Norris, Batman finished his appletini and left the bar.
Wolverine laid there defeated, devastated and utterly ruined. Much like the Leafs.
And then Wolverine exploded.