Oh, I can sympathize with Batman. Only last month, I had this Plantar's wart that just would not go away. I tried putting some dry ice on it, and I swear to the Luck Lords, not only did the damn thing actually get bigger, but a squeaky, scoffing voice issued from it, informing me that it "washes [its] balls in ice water," just like that Russian mob guy that Paulie and Christopher tried to kill in the snow, on "The Sopranos." One night, when when the wart was about the size of a bottle cap, it just opened up like a flower, and a handsome, well-hung (proportionately, anyway) little faerie-man (with hummingbird wings!) flitted out of it. He was beautiful. I was moved beyond words. I didn't cry, though. AND I'LL FIGHT ANY MAN WHO SAYS I DID! *looks around, menacingly* Anyway, the tiny fella pretty much immediately slammed into my patio door and knocked himself out.
And then Cootie ate him.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. The Mole. I don't understand why the Batman's minor medical crisis warrants an entire cover, but...
Yeah, that'll jack up your prize-winning rose bushes.
And yes, this is a Roy Thomas story. Which means it's chock-full of horribly, wonderfully bloviated caption boxes like these:
"Not quite the Witching Hour"? Then who gives a shit?
And if you ask me, this comic would have been a lot better if they would have added an accent mark to the "e" in "Mole". 'Cause then the story could have followed a mysterious figure, named after a type of delicious Mexican sauce. I'm picturing a cross between "El Mariachi" and "Iron Chef." ("Today's mystery ingredient is... a machine gun!" *cue kick-ass gun battle*)
But wait! What's that intriguing poster I spy on the left side of the frame? Computer, zoom out!
Why, it's an advertisement for Batman's lounge act, "Urban Terrorist", in town for one night only, at the Gotham Cabaret! Thrill as his rendition of "September Song" devolves into a prolonged rant about America's criminal justice system! Then retreat into the lobby and buy one of his cassette tapes from that creepy college kid in the scaly green shorts.
The Mole is so mind-bendingly
But as a consolation, please, enjoy this panel of Doctor Abraham Lincoln, Freudian analyst: