Not a movie review: The Dark Knight

I went to see The Dark Knight tonight. And here are five things I know about this movie:

1. It was the best Batman movie yet, though Batman Begins was pretty damn hot if only because Christian Bale showed more skin in that one (and don’t even try to argue with me here - I will simply ignore you because I know I’m right).
2. Christian Bale is the best Batman yet (I have a huge lustcrush on him, whether he’s playing Batman or otherwise, so don’t try to pick a fight with me on this one either).
3. Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman and Gary Oldman are just always good (again, do not attempt to argue with this).
4. Maggie Gyllenhaal is a much better Rachel than Katie Holmes because well, do I even have to say it?
5. And, yes, Heath Ledger was brilliantly horrid as the Joker. And his death has nothing to do with my opinion on this. I think he was just really really great in this part. May he rest in peace.

But here’s the real surprise about this movie, for me anyway; the thing I didn’t know until tonight:

I’m in love with the Batmobile! And yes, I mean sexually, as in, it makes me wet to see it… all quivery with the need to touch it.

If I ever had the chance to actually get up close to it, or even - be still my heart - sit inside (!), I’d probably rub myself all over it and purr… and then come (loudly) all over the leather upholstery (I’m sure it’s leather, gotta be leather).

And here’s how I came to realize this (pun intended):

I’m sitting there in the dark theater watching that Big Black Bat Thang power around all bursty-fast and low to the ground like it does while the Dolby sound of it is rumbling in my chest and suddenly, I realize I’m getting all squirmy and juicy. And I think, hmm…

Then when Batman is shown inside the Batmobile and all the computery gizmo thingies around him are all going flashy-flashy… I realize that, yep, I’m turned-on wet… which, in turn, brings on that need to cross and uncross my legs and adjust my bra and lick my lips.

And then when I see Batman’s gloved hands gripping the controls, fiddling with all those buttons, well, that finally makes me, um, unredeemably third-level wet. And it begins to dawn on me what’s going on here.

But, that’s not all. Oh no. Three levels of wetness is not all. Just as I’m beginning to quite enjoy my pleasantly surprising newfound “thing” for the Batmobile, out shoots Batman on that fat-assed little motorcycle (the Batpod ) - the means by which he escapes from the crashed-up Batmobile - and oh, that makes me, not only even wetter, but causes me to shamelessly moan right out loud - several times. Thank goodness for ridiculously loud theater surround sound.

Now, though I know many people get all turned on by cars and other things with wheels, I’ve never had a thing about vehicles of any kind. To me, they have always been simply machines that get a person from point A to point B. I could never understand how some people could think of cars as sexy.

But, tonight, my dears, I have seen the light.

Who knew.