"FUCK! HOLY SHIT, BATMAN, THAT HURTS!" I scream. The Joker had cut my left leg, and Bruce was stitching it up. The wound was shallow, but it hurt like a motherfucker. This is the worst part of being Robin, I think

"Master Jason!" said Alfred, shocked. "You may hear such words, but you will not repeat them in this house anymore!" He paused, and looked at me. I sighed. Here we go again. Why does he even fucking bother anymore?

Alfred takes the hint from my sigh. "I was going to give you more time, to learn, but clearly you need help now." He says. Or not... What'll it be this time? "I'm instituting a swear jar. For every offensive word on this list, you will place one dollar, or do one hour of work around the house."

I snatch the list, and tear it to shreds. "Problem solved."I limp towards the dressing room, leaning heavily on my left leg. I start removing my costume pieces, and replace the missing equipment in my utility belt.

"Not quite, Master Jason." says Alfred. He calls into the room. "I made a backup of the list."

"Shit." I say. It appears he means it this time, just like the time he really did wash my mouth out with soap. I could taste bubbles for weeks. I hang up my costume, and emerge from the dressing room. I've got to finish my stupid homework. Why won't Bruce just freaking homeschool me already? It would save so much time.

"One dollar, Master Jason," Alfred calls, "Two for every time you destroy the list or the jar."

Shit. There goes my allowance. I place three dollars in the damn jar. "Happy? It's not going to change anything." I say rudely, and then storm up the stairs.

I spend the rest of the day in my room, listening to loud songs with lots of swearwords (mainly heavy metal songs). A few hours later, I call Dick. "What is it, Jaybird?" He says sleepily. "It's 10 am. I had a long night."

"Did Alfred ever use a swear jar with you?" I say, cutting straight to the point. "Cause I'd really like to know how the hell you got rid of the damn thing."

"Yes, he did." Dick says. "I never managed to get rid of the stupid jar, and he still uses it when I visit. It annoys the heck out of me. By the way, you owe him two dollars." He hung up.

I toss the stupid phone across the room. "Screw you, Dick Grayson." I mutter. I hit play on my iPod again.

I hear a knock on my door. I open it, and see Alfred standing in the doorway. He walks in, and takes my iPod, then turns it off. "Master Jason, I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to listen to that horrid music anymore."

I snatch my iPod back. "And why not?" I ask. I do my best impression of the Batglare, but Alfred doesn't react at all.

"Because it is either that, or you owe me $135." says Alfred calmly. He walks past, and takes my iPod with him when he leaves.

I kick my bed. Great. This was the start of a fun day. Then I scream. I'd used my bad leg. Just fucking great. I hate my life sometimes.

AN: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. The second part will be coming soon. Please review, it makes my day. Also, will you sign these to petitions to change the site rules and stop Critics United:

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