I've worked hard to cultivate an air of mystery, of intimidation. From my bat-like cowl to a flowing cape that lets me become one with the shadows, my entire crime-fighting persona is based on striking fear into the heart of Gotham's criminals. It's one thing to bring a street punk to justice; it's another thing entirely to have his fellow gang members give up a life of crime because of the sheer terror they see in their erstwhile partner in law-breaking. The nightmares of this creature of the night -- half pug, half bat. Perhaps a third muskrat. They don't know; that's the whole point. I swoop in from the night sky, administer justice and fear, and then vanish, leaving Gotham's tabloid rags to spread the sketchy details of my deeds.
Today, good citizens of Gotham, I have a new weapon in the fight against evildoers. For the first time, the Bark Knight does not ride alone. I welcome my new sidekick, Robin, to the fray. Because nothing is more terrifying than a puppy in a Speedo.
A couple of cops yelled at me and tried to arrest me tonight, angry that I incapacitated that maniac Two-Face. A vigilante, they called me. A menace. Yeah, right. Two-Face is a certified nut job. He flips a coin before making decisions, for God's sake. How could the police ever hope to contend with that? They'd be completely overmatched against that kind of elite supervillain. No, this was a job for Batpug. And a thankless one at that. Such is the life of a caped, collared crusader.
I roughed up a couple of street punks tonight. They were mugging an old lady in downtown Gotham, stealing her MedicAlert bracelet. Can you believe the nerve of those thugs? What would that poor, dear woman do if she fell and couldn't get up? Needless to say, I didn't show a whole lot of mercy while dispatching bat-justice. Yessir, they're going to feel those scratches in the morning.
I've been tracking my old nemesis the Riddler, who stole a priceless book of ancient wisdom and a can of spray paint from the Gotham Museum of Art. I found his hideout and dispatched with some of his goons, but the Riddler escaped. All he left behind was this blonde joke. It is hilarious, yes, but what ... does .. it ... mean? Somewhere hidden within the punchline is the clue to the Riddler's whereabouts. Can you help?
I just got back from one of my after-dark neighborhood patrols. I like to walk the streets, make my presence known to the local low-lifes. In a cul-de-sac near my house, I caught the scent of a suspected prowler. I gave the ground a thorough sniffing, trying to pinpoint his location. He was nearby. I cracked my pug knuckles, ready to give this miscreant a well-deserved thrashing. After donning my Bat Thermal Goggles, I turned from the sidewalk and began to walk toward the house, where the punk was probably trying to break in or peep through the window. But then the leash stopped me in my tracks. I tried to pull, but my parents wouldn't budge. "Come on, Batpug," they said, giving a slight tug. "Let's go this way. Stay on the sidewalk." So whatever that creep was up to, he probably got away with it. Next time, I'll be patrolling alone.
The local police announced last week that crime here in Gotham was down across the board over the last year. Homicides down 20 percent, overall crime down 5 percent. Not a bad 2005. But the commissioner had better be careful not to strain a muscle patting himself on the back. He and I both know that when things go bad, he'll need his strength to flip that switch on the Bat Signal. Am I angry that the police are taking all the credit, making no mention of the real reason for the lower crime rate? No. My shroud of mystery makes me that much more effective as I clean up these filthy streets. In addition to forging my stocky but chiseled body into a fearsome weapon, I employ psychological warfare techniques. Last night, I trailed a scared dope dealer for five blocks. I hung from a Batrope above him, the sound of my heavy breathing putting the fear of God in him before I finally swooped in to administer justice.
Sometimes I wonder why I do it. I catch one perp, and two more take his place. But if I don't, who will? Don't get me wrong -- I appreciate the police and what they do. Aside from the crooked ones, of course. But against this new breed of lunatic super villain, the police are overmatched. The Penguin has a weaponized umbrella, for God's sake. That's where I come in. I'm Batpug, and I'm not afraid to get my paws dirty. Evildoers, beware.
I've worked hard to cultivate an air of mystery, of intimidation. From my bat-like cowl to a flowing cape that lets me become one with the shadows, my entire crime-fighting persona is based on striking fear into the heart of Gotham's criminals. It's one thing to bring a street punk to justice; it's another thing entirely to have his fellow gang members give up a life of crime because of the sheer terror they see in their erstwhile partner in law-breaking. The nightmares of this creature of the night -- half pug, half bat. Perhaps a third muskrat. They don't know; that's the whole point. I swoop in from the night sky, administer justice and fear, and then vanish, leaving Gotham's tabloid rags to spread the sketchy details of my deeds. 
