(What's better than a five-minute word sprint?)
An interview I had prepped for is actually in another hour because I don't understand time zones, so I have some time to tear into a five-minute word sprint like a honey badger eating Pop Tarts.
Start that timer.
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The Penguin stared at the clock, anger making his face even more a caricature than normal. The contact was supposed to be here by now. Oswald Cobblepot was many things. Rich. Successful. Short. But tolerant of tardiness was nowhere on that particular list.
He had discovered a street hood who could finally bring Batman to his armored knees. Armor. Penguin remembered when Batman was just some guy prowling rooftops, beating up muggers. The Gotham cops would use him to solve some cases because he worked for free and they were (are) too stupid to do the jobs themselves.
He took on the wacky costumed criminals that seemed to appear weekly, of which, Cobblepott was more than a little ashamed to say, he was one. The great thing about rising through the ranks of the criminal underworld to its apex is that anyone who remembered him in that ridiculous top hat and tails are either too smart or too dead to mention it in Penguin's presence.
Nowadays, though, Batman was like some armored comic book super hero with any and every device he could think of not only there, but instantly available for use.
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Decided to go with a comic book motif, as I've been reading a bungload of them lately. There you have it. Five minutes of a Penguin story that didn't exist until now. You're welcome.
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