There's something the modern Batman never does: perspire.
"But that's absurd," you scoff. "Batman doesn't sweat! He's the rootin'ist, tootin'ist hombre east of the Pecos!" And then I realize that I have my transchronobloggacommunicamator set for "Ye Olde Weste" instead of "2008" (a.k.a. "the Dawn of the Apocalyptic Era") and I adjust its various dials and levers accordingly. There. Can you hear me now?
So as I was saying -- and the older, even-shlubbier comics fans will back me up on this -- Batman did, indeed, previously possess the ability to sweat. But the question remains: why is he sweating? Why here? Why now? If I may float some (kick-ass) theories...
- He's watching a shirtless Robin clean the giant penny with a sponge and a bucket of soapy water.
- He's getting a sensuous foot massage from Dr. Phosphorus.
- He's got "twenty big ones" riding on the Gotham Knights in the big game tonight, but Poison Ivy is dating their star quarterback, and she's always showin' up at games and shit, screwing things up.
- He's quietly riding out, like, his fourteenth consecutive heart attack.
- The lava dome that comprises the floor of the Batcave is cracking open.
- The Joker surreptitiously dosed him with his latest toxin, or, more likely, senile old Alfred undercooked the fucking porkchops again.