It's the cape. It must be the cape. Everyone wants to have sex with Batman, and I'm left here on my own. Even Laura wants to have sex with Batman, and I thought she only liked girls. I can see her fawning over him from across the room, and it's hard to see anything through this mask. It might be the spandex, but no-one seems to like my Aquaman costume. I can command the beasts of the sea, and no-one wants to have sex with me. Batman's just some dick with a cape and an overdeveloped sense of his own importance. He doesn't have power over nature. He doesn't even have scales. But everyone wants to have sex with him. I can tell.

Don't think I'm being insecure, either. I can see everyone looking at him, and maybe it's the booze, but they seem to find him... interesting. I know Paul without his Batcowl, and he's not interesting. He's a dick. This whole stupid party was his idea in the first place. But the way Claire just touched his knee... Claire who said I was 'too nice'. Anyway, she's not even very good as Storm; that white hair isn't convincing in the slightest. I spent ages on these scales, and does anyone want to come and talk to me? No. I'm here in the corner with a glass of rum and coke that's mostly rum, sitting next to a fat girl with asthma who only talks about how Twilight changed her life. We aren't talking.

Motherfucker outspent me, that must be it. Because when rich kid Paul decides he's going to be Batman, he isn't going to be the flabby, Adam West type Batman with the paunch and the floppy ears and the visible junk. I mean, I can't imagine anyone would be able to see his cock anyway, it's probably microscopic. But the point is, Paul has invested. His costume is all metallic and shimmering. I think he's even wearing black eyeshadow to cover the join between the mask and his eyes. That'd be just like him. And then he says Aquaman is 'kinda gay' in that awful high-rising terminal Californian accent of his. Bitch, I run the sea. You hang out with an underage boy in short shorts solving mysteries.

Big laugh from across the room. Again. I don't even know why I'm still here. Claire made me do it. 'Come on, it'll be fun!'. I never could refuse her anything, even if she never did see how much she meant to me. I told her, though, if I'm going to do this, I'm doing it my way. None of these lame mainstream heroes. I'm coming as Aquaman. And I did. And I knew when Paul made his sarcastic little jab, that I'm-better-than-you smirk on his oh-so-perfect face, I would be ready. I'd say something so witty, so devastating, that he'd be forced into silence and Claire and I would walk off into the sunset together arm in arm. I was just about to say it when that dumb prick in the Deadpool costume bumped into me and spilled my drink all over my scales.

He's doing the voice again. 'I'm Batman'. I'm not staring. At least, I don't think I'm staring. Twilight Girl says something I don't hear, because I'm too busy trying to hate him to death with my eyes. She has her hand on mine for some reason. I wave her off. Is... is she crying? I didn't even know she was talking. She'd practically dragged me away from the interesting people - and Paul - earlier, and I'd smiled and nodded because I'm a nice guy. That's... what I am. Maybe I don't want to be the nice guy. Maybe I'm just an evil motherfucker wearing a nice guy costume. I push her hand away, and now she really is crying. Paul looks over, all concern. That big billowy cape of his is looking very flammable to me right now. I've got a jerrycan full of petrol in the car.

We'll see how tough he is when I come back as the Human Torch.