You know what all those great detectives you see in the movies and in the comics always have? Informants.
Like, a little scrawny guy that operates on the wrong side of the tracks, but the hero turns a blind eye to as long as the little snitch keeps feeding him information on the really bad dudes.



So, as part of my Villain Community Rehabilitation (VCR) program, my handler has made me take part in a 587-step program towards becoming a hero. So far, I'm on step 17. (I had to start over a few times; seriously, those stupid pigeons in the park ain't gonna kick themselves. Stupid, stupid pigeons.)
Anyway, step 17 is to find an informant and make him start giving you information on the really bad dudes.



So, I headed down for the docks, because if there's one thing that pop culture has taught me, it's that whenever Michael Bay takes over a film franchise, there's going to be 500% more explosions and tits. Sometimes we'll get a twofer and get exploding tits.

If there's two things that pop culture has taught me, it's that snitches operate down by the docks in crappy little warehouses, doing... whatever the hell it is that snitches do. Make pottery, I dunno.

So, I knew that I had to make an immediate impression on whatever snitch I was going to claim as my own; the only way to get them to give you the information you need is to instill the fear of God into them within the first sixty seconds of meeting them. I pulled out my trusty pocketwatch, which my grandfather had smuggled through Germany in one of his body cavities, to ensure that I would indeed be sticking to the sixty-second terror schedule.



I approached a likely snitch to begin my process. Now, with most snitches, you usually see the archetype of scrawny, tattooed, and twitchy. I, however, wanted a snitch that would intimidate the other snitches on the playground, (they hang out on snitch playgrounds, right?) so I chose the largest snitch I saw.
Tattoos? Check. Twitchy? Check!
This was going to go great!



So I tapped on his shoulder, and when he turned around, I punched him square in the face whilst screaming "WHERE IS HARVEY DENT!" in his punched face.
About that time I noticed a rather searing pain in my hand and looked down to see that I had just punched him in the face while I was still holding the pocket watch. The watch was fine, but my hand, sadly, was not. I held my other hand up to the bewildered snitch in the universal gesture for "wait a minute, I think I just shattered every bone in my hand" but I guess the guy didn't speak universal, since he picked me up over his head (which I really did regret not punching harder, since this was the outcome,) and then tossed me in the bay.

It's totally okay, though; I got the last laugh. As he was walking away, I yelled back at him "Why don't you go jump up your own ass and die, crazy-eye!"

Did I say the last laugh? I meant to say the last that-crazy-eyed-monster-jumped-in-the-bay-after-me-and-broke-my-coccyx-with-his-fist.

Ah, well. At least I can always go and kick some more pigeons when I get out of the hospital and the wheelchair.

Holy Shit i'm dying here !! WS!! You SICK twisted LOVABLE villan. You can wreak havoc in my city anyday!! Great read, laughed like i've not laughed in a very long time. Thanks for that bro! Hilarious!!!!!

What no obligatory use of Explosi-bolas or anything?
aw well still a sweet patrol log Skully A+

More White Skull! More!!!!!

that brought tears to my eyes....... the thought of punching someone whilst clutching a pocket watch, quite painful! you and some low-pay part-time hench-persons should pay this brigand a visit before stopping to kick said pigeons!

I smell a made for TV movie, "Skulls and Stripes: The White Skulls Road to Redemption", for SPIKE....... of course, explosive boobies and all.

Okay you have a point, I resend my critique with my apologies

I love it! more, More, MORE!!!!!!!

I just died laughing......