Up Where The Air is Clear

I caught a bit of the This American Life broadcast last weekend where Jonathan Goldstein reads his short story about The Penguin (pre-Gotham) meeting Mary Poppins. It is absurd and hilarious.

Here's the first paragraph. Follow the link to keep reading. (DO IT!)

Before he ever moved to Gotham City, before he grew into the overweight, obsessive sad sack of his later years, the Penguin was a poet and a dandy who lived in London. He wrote complex villanelles and threw lavish dinner parties at which he only became more charming the more he drank. He wore a monocle, a top hat and carried an umbrella.

One evening, at one of his dinner parties after hours spent sipping absinthe, the Penguin ran up to the roof of his building, opened up his large, black umbrella and leaped off into the air. As he coasted to the ground, he hollered out lines from Blake, stuff about grabbing life by the fat of its stomach and giving it a twist. He was that crazy. He was that bursting with life.

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