Stems & Seed: Cunny Bane

st-seMy poor wife…

My poor, sweet, patient wife…

She puts up with my madness, this saintly woman… And for that I am a lucky man…


Cunny Bane

For some reason (cough, cough a simple, easy to amuse mind), ever since seeing The Dark Knight Rises, I have been obsessed with doing the Bane voice.

baneAt first, the impression consisted of me mumbling into my palms menacingly. This got a few chuckles. But it needed more. So I tweaked it.

For weeks, I worked it and reworked it, making my damnedest efforts to get the voice pitch perfect. Until I thought I got it: You start with Daryl Hammond’s impression of Sean Connery, over enunciate the “-th” and “-sk” sounds in the words, and wrap it all up by speaking into your cupped hand.

It wasn’t “perfect” mind you… But it was close enough to know who I was doing without doing lines from the movie while saying it and I decided to unleash it upon the one person who would never care about my newly discovered skill…

My beleaguered wife, Anne.

It didn’t take long… a few days before the act got old.

And who would blame her… a half drunken loon going on and on like the mush mouthed villain in the final installment of Christopher Nolan’s bane-longBatman series…

Ordering fast food like the villain….

Giving the children orders as the villain…

In retrospect, it seems exhausting.

And for a while, after an awkward exchange with a lady at the Wendy’s, I kind of put the voice away.

Until Saturday night…

“The City is yours!”

As many married couples (or unmarried couples really giving the middle finger to god by not only living in sin but creating a few bastards to go along with it) might know, sometimes the flesh has to do without.

Not because of a lack of desire… Hardly; our celibacy had been an offshoot of inconsiderate children and invading biological forces.

And for the past few weeks our house was overrun with them…

Vomiting, water shitting, hacking up a lung disgusting creatures whom- had they not been birthed from the loins of my blushing bride- would have been smothered out of pity and convenience.

And once we were done curing the plagued, the two of us befell the plague.

For two long weeks, my wife and I did without.

But Saturday was going to be different.

Saturday we have a bottle of cheap, sweet wine, a couple of vicodin to chase with it, and no one waking us up unexpectedly in the middle of the night due some fluid escaping from somewhere.

A recipe for love!

And sure enough, by night’s end we were getting to business.

Now I always fancied myself a giver in the bedroom and with my wife I was no different.

So there I am, doing my dirty work… Thighs around my head, I look up to my wife… She looks down to me, her passion burning in her eyes as her fingers tear through my hair…

Our eyes lock… I grip her thighs with my hands…

bane-stadium“Who loves you?” She coos…

“No one caredth abouth me until I put on the mask.” I grumble back, in the outlawed impression.

“What was that,” my wife replied, puzzled by the unexpected reply.

“Annie Rezeck, the League of Shadowths hath found you in contempt, and I am your reconning…”

My hands tightened their grip; my face never moving as I did the impression…

My wife’s eyes narrowed, the passion subsiding into an angry sort of annoyance.

“People of Gotham,” I Baned, “The pussy ith yourth!”


What happened next would have bordered on a sexual assault had we not been a married couple. Knees and feet were akimbo as my wife kicked her way to eventual freedom.

“Jesus asshole,” she bitched, wrapping herself in the bed sheet. “Way to ruin a fucking moment.”

She stormed out of the room, eventually ending up on the couch; motherfuckering me until the wine whisked her off to dreamland.

Now I could have gone out there and begged her to come back to bed. I could have. And in truth, I probably should have (for some reason, I have a bane-facefeeling “attempted to have forcible oral sex with me while doing an impression of Tom Hardy’s Bane” might end up in a court record at some point).

But I didn’t…

I lay in bed, laughing… my sides hurting from laughter… every so often grunting out a few more random sentences in all their Bane glory.

I would say I am sorry in the morning, perhaps blame it all on painkiller and wine fueled impulsivity… But for that evening, I let it breath…


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