So basically, this is where my crappy little segments to defuse writer's block will go. I am using my character Lindsey Brooks for these as well. I"m not even calling this a story or these chapters. This is just a thing with little things in it.

Thing One: Insert Clever Witty Freaking Awesome Hilarious Title Of Choice After Reading Here

What would one expect to see in the small suburban area in Gotham? Possibly, the only friendly looking neighborhood for miles in the city that's almost surreally perfect with the stereotypical Stepford wives. Almost nothing could ruin the flawless image of the quaint but cozy little neighborhood.

Almost nothing. A hyperventilating, shaky, sweaty girl sitting against the side of her blue VW bug with a sordid raccoon corpse resting behind the back tires may put a damper on the peace.

Lindsey Brooks, the aforementioned spastic girl clutched her cell phone to her ear and ran a hand through her damp hair. The person on the other line could not answer soon enough for her.

"Brooks residence," an overly cheery voice finally responded.

"Mom?" Lindsey half shouted in a vain attempt to make her voice sound less hoarse.

"Ah," the masculine voice echoed on the other line, "No?"

"Well who's this?"

"Lindsey?"

"I'm Lindsey! Who's this?" she yelled, contemplating the men in her life that could be at her home answering her phone, "Bruce?"

Sure enough Lindsey found she was indeed conversing with family friend Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy her mother used to babysit. As Joan Brooks may say, he does still need her nannying him from time to time. But this particular story is not about Joan and Bruce.

"Yeah. What's wrong, babe?" he asked with a chuckle.

Lindsey sat back against her car, once again running her free hand through her sweat-matted hair, "I ran over a raccoon."

"You okay?"

"No!" she squealed, "I'm freaked out! I mean, one: It's was disgusting and I could feel it under my tires as I ran over it. Two: It's still there oozing on the road. And three: What if it's friends and family come after me? All that's on their twisted little vermin minds is revenge."

"Lindsey dear," Bruce cooed, not trying to mask his laughter, "Their raccoons."

"Exactly!"

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Well, I was going to ask Mom to have Shawn drive her out here so she could drive me home."

"Ok," Bruce collected himself before instructing her, "If you're not already there, get back in your car. Take few deep breaths and, I know Joan will beat me if she finds out, but just keep talking to me while you drive."

"I can't," she exclaimed, "First thing I did was tumble out and throw up a lung! If I see another raccoon I'll have to make another pit stop!"

"Thanks…" Bruce drawled, "That was absolutely vital for me to know. Are you in your car yet?"

Lindsey groaned exaggeratedly as she pulled herself into the driver's seat, willing herself not to look at the road kill. Unfortunately, her left mirror was in the perfect position to show her work in full.

"Oh my God it's looking at me!" Lindsey screamed, letting her head fall to her steering wheel to shield her eyes. She landed in the perfect spot for her horn to go off startling her into jumping back and slamming her head against the headrest.

"Damn it!"

"Sounds like fun," Bruce remarked, amusement apparent in his voice. Lindsey glared at the phone, "Help!"

"How?"

"Make it go away?"

"Again, how?" Bruce asked slowly, frustration beginning to outweigh hilarity, "Do think I'm a street cleaner?"

"I don't know your life," she retorted, "You could be freaking Pillsbury Doughboy for all I know!"

He gasped, "How'd you know?" Lindsey rolled her eyes at the evident sarcasm, but responded nevertheless, "You have gotten a little puffy since you've been back."

She was rewarded with a resounding click and the telltale beeping in her ear.

"He hung up on me! Son of a…"

She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat, started her car, and sped out of the neighborhood. How could Bruce get in such a snit to hang up on her when she needed him the most?

Miraculously avoiding a speeding ticket, Lindsey maneuvered into the parking garage of her building and jogged up the stairs.

Sure enough, she was greeted in her apartment by Bruce lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, eating potato chips, and watching the food channel's special on desserts.

"You hung up on me," Lindsey shouted, standing in front of the TV, "Just because I said you got a little puffy! How could you?"

Bruce leaned from one side to the other, trying to see around the irate teenager. He made a wild waving motion to the side with his hands and whined, "You make a better wall than window. Move."

Lindsey just glanced over her shoulder and stepped toward the center of the screen, blocking his view even more, "You were supposed to help me get home and calm myself so I wouldn't die driving. What happened to that."

Bruce sighed heavily, sat up a bit, and pulled her down to sit on the chair next to the couch.

"And I did. You're home now."

Lindsey froze, her face going red. She settled back into the chair and muttered an almost inaudible, "…oh."

"Oh," Bruce mocked. She glared up at him and stayed silent for a few seconds. She narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow at the program he was watching before directing her gaze back to him.

"You watch Martha Stewart?"

Yeah...this helped...it was kinda fun though!