The Nurse's Date (aka how the Joker Got His Hospital Uniform)
"D'you wanna know how I got these scars?"
The words came out like a well-rehearsed line in a play and, to the Joker, it was. Life was nothing but a long, drawn-out play in which everyone had their roles and played them out like the faithful automatons they were. No one was aware they were trapped in someone else's poor excuse for a sitcom. But the Joker was. This was his only rehearsed line. Everything else he said and did came from a concentrated effort to be the wrench thrown into the proverbial works, to manifest as a pair of human sabot and act accordingly. As he liked to remind the people of Gotham City, the Joker was an agent of chaos.
Sometimes he worried that his agent of chaos role had already been pre-ordained by this faceless author in control of everyone in Gotham. Thinking about that, though, made his head hurt and his stomach do the flip-flops. He didn't want to think that there was no escape from The Plan. It made his brain boil to philosophise his theory too very much. It made him want to hurt people more so than usual.
Like the person before him now. Young Janet Chappell, occupation: nurse.
Over the course of three months, the Joker had taken Janet out on dates a good dozen times. She'd never seen him in his signature war paint. She knew what he looked like, scars and all, from the very beginning of their relationship. They'd met at Gotham General, actually, when the Joker showed up in the emergency room to have a nasty cut looked at. He usually took care of any injuries he got himself, but this cut was deep and persistent. It needed stitches in a nice clean environment, so off to the hospital the Joker went.
One of the nurses on duty that day was tall, chunky Janet Chappell. She called him back to one of the numerous tiny exam rooms in the ER. She got his temperature and his weight, then asked for his name and address as she set the Joker's record up in the computer network.
"Ehem, well, Janet – may I call you Janet?" He began, nodding at her name tag. She nodded back in a friendly and professional manner. "My name is Brad. Brad Majors. I currently reside at 1424 Frank Circle, apartment 2-Deee, not far from here. And it's a pleasure to meet you, despite the cirrrcumstances."
"Well, Mr. Majors –"
"Brad pleeeez."
"Okay, Brad, it's nice to meet you, too. Now, can you please tell me how you ended up with that cut on your arm?"
He told her some sort of inane little lie, not wanting her to know that the cut was a result of a heist on a secret mob lair. The heist went off with hardly a hitch, except for a couple of lost henchmen and that cut he got on a broken window. It ruined his nifty violet overcoat but, thankfully, the money he got out of that heist easily replaced the lost clothing and could pay for his ER visit a thousand times over. Before Janet left the room to get his chart made up for the doctor, "Brad" had wooed her to the malleability of acquiescence and they'd set up their first date for that coming Friday night. There was just something about Janet that made the Joker all bubbly inside, like a Champagne gone very bad. Maybe it was that she could look him directly in the eye, being the exact same height as he, or maybe it was the extra meat on her bones (the Joker could just imagine basking in her endless womanliness). Or maybe, just maybe it was all of this combined with the fact that Janet never asked about his scars, despite her vocation and their location at the time. Besides, you never know when having a health care worker around might come in handy.
So that was three months ago.
In the three months that ensued after his visit to Gotham General's emergency room, the Joker wined and dined Janet like a Casanova on crack. He took her to all of Gotham's swankiest spots, bought her spendy gifts (thanks to the copious amounts of mob money to which the Joker had helped himself), and showered her with some of the most precious attention a psychopath in hiding can give to a nurse with self-image issues.
And Janet most certainly had those. She was just over six feet tall, had a shoe size of 11 1/5 triple E, and weighed about 250 pounds on a good day. Her brunette hair was at one of those awkward lengths where you couldn't do much with it but wash it and hope for the best. And her face was moony and plain, accentuated by the lack of make-up, except for the occasional wrong shade of lipstick. She'd been called a freak since early childhood. The Joker could appreciate her particular issues. What he couldn't appreciate or understand was why on Earth Janet would choose a vocation caring for the very people who'd as soon spit on her as look at her if the circumstances were different. The woman was a freak, plain and simple, and it didn't matter if she helped save any of these people's lives. They'd leave the ER chattering in hushed tones about the Sasquatch who patched their wounds or the wounds of their loved ones. The fuckers had no gratitude or appreciation. All they had was derision for anything or anyone different than themselves.
He hated humanity. As a species, he thought to himself as he prepared to tell Janet the "scar story," we all need to fucking die. Immediately. Something needs to render us extinct with no shred of hope of any survivors or the promise that any other primate might be stupid enough to devolve into such a rancid animal. My only regret is that I might not be the instrument of our collective eradication.
The Joker brought himself back from the brink of rage preferring, instead, to relive the past three glorious months. For glorious they had been. His time spent with Janet was actually quite important to the Joker, who gave in a little to the Brad persona, much to the detriment of the Joker's mental livelihood, but to the benefit of Gotham's overall health. During the entire time of Brad and Janet's whirlwind love affair, there was only one confirmed Joker misdeed. But he'd had it coming.
Dr. Robert Scott, known by all his colleagues and underlings as Doctor Bob, was introduced to Brad by Janet at a fancy dinner party hosted by none other but Bruce Wayne. Brad had to avoid the illustrious Mr. Wayne because that one would recognize the scars that were always painted when the Joker jousted with Batman. No, better to lie low since there was so much more to be done. Anyway, Doctor Bob was a plastic surgeon, the best in Gotham City, according to Janet. Everyone had a crush on him because he was so handsome and witty and rich and talented and blabbityblabbityblabblabblab. Even Janet had a crush on Doctor Bob, the Joker could tell. The way her tone of voice changed and her face flushed when she introduced him to the Joker gave her away. The Joker didn't mind, though. He wasn't the jealous type since he honestly couldn't care less if he tried.
Doctor Bob shook the Joker's hand, squeezing just a little too tight indicating a man who had a need to dominate everything in his life. The Joker squeezed back with bone-crushing pressure. He may be thin, but the Joker was anything but weak. Madness gave one a particular strength yet to be measured by the so-called sane. When Doctor Bob's smug expression changed to one of pain and dismay, the Joker let him go and smiled a genuine smile at the defeated doctor. So the good Doctor Bob tried a different tack to regain his superiority: he looked the Joker up and down and said, "Well, Brad, have you ever thought about having some plastic surgery done? Maybe you could get a better-looking date if you'd have those scars taken care of."
His words visibly crushed Janet, but the Joker didn't give Doctor Bob the satisfaction of showing his own rage. Instead he said, "No, Doctor Bob, these scars hold my soul, so I prefer to keep them and display them proudly. Not everyone has the need to look like a cardboard cut-out from a little girl's toy fashion-design set."
Doctor Bob's wide smile faltered. He stuck around long enough for some small talk before excusing himself and moving on to greener pastures. The Joker pooh-poohed Bob's inappropriate comments and tried to cheer Janet as best he could. She was inconsolable, though, so they left the party early, much to the Joker's relief.
When they got back to Janet's little home, the Joker kissed her passionately, removing her evening gown with deliberate slowness. Beginning with her lips, he kissed her, wetting her lips with his tongue as it darted across his own lips to moisten them for the task before him. He kissed along her jaw line and down her neck. He gathered up Janet's ample breasts, kissing and licking them until he reached the areolae. Here he stopped when he heard Janet's breath hitch and he felt her chest go still while she held her breath, waiting for what was next. Janet loved how Brad took his time, examining and exploring every inch of her body.
First came the left one. The Joker flicked his tongue out and traced the dark circlet of Janet's areola, moistening it in ever smaller spirals until he found her nipple, erect and waiting for him. He took it between his teeth and nipped just hard enough to make Janet gasp and take in some fresh oxygen. Sitting her down in her recliner and resting partially on her and beside her, the Joker continued his assault on Janet's left nipple. He took just the nipple at first, sucking enthusiastically, licking the tip furiously. Then he widened his mouth to pull in the entire areola. The Joker liked the sounds Janet made when he did this. He moved to her right breast as she helped him shed that damned itchy, uncomfortable tuxedo.
They lay together, their naked bodies fitting perfectly in the recliner. "Don't you dare give a second thought to what that ball of dung said at the party tonight, Snookums. I'll take care of everything."
"You're so good to me, Brad. So sweet. I don't des-"
"Sh, now. You do. Be a good girl now and let me in."
The Joker moved down her body, licking and kissing. His tongue was made for such fun and it never tired of tasting a good woman. It only took his two index fingers pushing outward just a little to spread Janet's legs. She was already drenched from the Joker's lingering attention to her flesh and that suited the Joker just fine. He lapped at her like a cat, taking in her juices like a famished desert refugee. He heard her come, felt her come, tasted her come at least three times in a short period of time. For the Joker, three was the magic number. He moved back up Janet's corpulent body and kissed her lips, letting her taste herself on him. He then moved to mount her, letting his cock slip into Janet with a knowing ease.
She was holding her breath again. "Breathe," the Joker said to her, but Janet wouldn't do it. "Breathe!"
And Janet gasped, letting precious oxygen into her lungs. She moved beneath the Joker, her legs tightening around his hips. "I love you," she whispered. "Brad, I do, I really do love you."
"Brad loves you, too, Sweet Potato. Now be still. Be very still and breathe, and just feel me inside you, feel my weight on you. Just lie therrre and know you're being fucked, even in this compleeet-t still-ness."
Janet lay beneath the Joker, feeling him grow larger and longer inside her, feeling the walls of her cunt contract and pull instinctively on his hardness. She wanted to feel him move, she wanted him to thrust. Just the thought of it made her lift her hips ever-so-slightly.
"No-no, Honeycomb. Be still."
They seemed to lie there forever, just looking at each other and feeling their carnal connection. Janet studied the Joker's face. He had the softest brown eyes she'd ever seen. They were neither too large nor too small, but just right, like the Baby Bear's porridge. There was a kindness there, but his eyes were also haunted. They carried a hidden part of Brad that Janet was a little scared to ever discover, despite her love for him. The scars on his face began at each corner of his mouth and curved upward in a perverse grin that represented some profound suffering Janet was certain was connected to the haunted gleam in Brad's eyes. Even if he didn't feel like it or want to, Brad was always smiling. The initial cuts were poorly stitched, making the scars worse than they should have been.
The Joker sensed he was losing Janet to some thought other than his fucking her, so he began to move against her to bring her back to the reality of him and her, connected and reclined as they were. He didn't pull out of her at all, preferring instead to thrust into her as far as he could, pressing himself into her pubic bone with a determined perpetuity.
Janet came again, her cunt undulating around the Joker's cock while she moaned his name and pulled him to her in desperation. While she was still in rapture, the Joker continued to thrust, this time pulling out all the way except for the tip of his cock, then pushing back in hard and fast. The Joker liked variety and inventiveness in his sex but, when it came right down to it, he enjoyed his sex rough and raw. He was happy to provide whatever his partner may need, that is if she didn't piss him off to the point of homicide, but he also appreciated a partner who let him finish their session his way.
The Joker slammed into Janet harder and faster, grunting as he moved, and relishing the grunts and moans he elicited from his Amazon beauty. He was reaching her cervix, he could tell, because her grunts carried a tone of discomfort. He liked that. He fucked her harder. Her cries got louder and more plaintive in response. He fucked her faster and kissed her, snaking his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth. Twirling his tongue around hers, the Joker felt Janet's grunts and groans, tasting them as well as hearing them.
Harder.
Faster.
It was violent love. It was beastly and beautiful. The Joker didn't want it to ever end. Janet was crying when she came again. The Joker was laughing when he finally allowed himself to let go. He quickly pulled out and straddled Janet, holding his balls with one hand and stroking his cock with the other, shooting strings of pearly-white liquid all over her breasts, throat, and face. Janet opened her mouth and tried to catch some with her tongue.
Lucky girl, the Joker growled in his mind when he saw some of his semen land on Janet's tongue. He felt himself already getting hard again just from seeing that. It was one of the sexiest things in the world, the Joker thought, for a woman to catch a man's release on her tongue like that. Just the thought of it made him want to fuck. So he stayed for a while longer, reclined with Janet, basking in sex, being the animals all humans were and celebrating it instead of repressing it. He had the time. The night was young still for the little visit he had planned.
After a couple of hours with Janet, the Joker kissed her goodbye and made his way home. He applied his war paint, sprayed his hair a light olive green, and changed into his purple suit. Before leaving his apartment, he made sure he had some cash on him, his knives, and a can of red spray paint. Oh, and make-up. He'd need his make-up for the job he had in mind.
Making his way back to Wayne manor, the Joker sat in amongst the landscaped shrubbery and waited, watching for the departure of Doctor Bob. He was certain it would be a loud and obnoxious adieu, very much like the person wishing everyone a good evening. He'd leave alone, too, the Joker was sure of that. Doctor Bob would have already gotten himself some boo-tay somewhere in the manor. Some little gold-digging slut would have compromised her questionable morals for the chance of becoming Doctor Bob's main squeeze. But it didn't work that way. Doctor Bob was too in love with himself to ever allow someone else to come between him and Doctor Bob. Besides, Doctor Bob was as gay as could be. Not just homosexual gay, but flaming "I've got dyed ostrich feathers coming out of my ass as I walk in the Gay Pride parade" gay. He tried to repress it by fucking all the stupid nurses who thought they may have a chance but, no…. Gay. If he had the chance, he'd bend over and touch his toes for Bruce Wayne in a New York minute. Hell, he probably already had, more than once. Bruce just loved the repressed boys.
The Joker rolled his eyes in disgust and not a small amount of frustration. Someday, Bruce would bend to the Joker's will, but as the Batman, not Bruce Wayne. The Joker had no interest in Wayne, but the Batman was a different matter altogether. The Joker felt his cock jump at the thought of dominating Batman, wrapping that pointy black cape around his arm to keep him in place while he rammed his message home, deep in the Batman's bowels. Sometimes, it wasn't about the sex, just like with money, it was about sending a message.
A similar message would be sent tonight, the Joker thought as he watched Doctor Bob approach his Mercedes. Emerging from the shadows, the Joker walked in a straight line toward Doctor Bob, his shoulders hunched with manic determination.
"Doctorrr Bob-b," the Joker said, and the doctor started, looking to his right to see the Joker just steps away from him. "Let's you and me go for a ride."
And the Joker was on him, forcing him into the Mercedes and depositing himself in the passenger's seat with a knife to the doctor's throat. "D-don't hurt me, please," Doctor Bob stammered. "I'll do anything. Just don't h-hurt me."
"Oh, quit your whining and drrrivvve," the Joker growled.
"Where?" The good doctor started his car, ignoring the expensive purr he usually admired for a few moments before driving anywhere.
"Let's go to your place, handsome. That way we'll have some privaceee."
Doctor Bob drove them to an extravagant mansion in the ritziest part of Gotham. Pulling the car into the garage, the doctor turned the vehicle off and sat very still as he waited further instruction from the Joker. But the Joker just sat there looking at Doctor Bob while he twirled the knife he held near the doctor's neck from finger to finger. He liked to do hand exercises with this knife. It kept him nimble.
"Ya know, I should just jab this into your jugular and leave you here in your pret-ty little car."
Doctor Bob began to cry. Disgusting. "P-please… no. no no no."
"No? Is that a request? A plea? A command? I don't think you're in the position to give commands, do you, Doctorrr Bob-b?"
The doctor only shook his head. His face was drenched with tears. The good doctor wasn't so pretty now. Oh, how the Joker wished he could show all the swooning hospital staff how quickly beauty fades when faced with even the hint of death. Wait a minute. Maybe he could show them. "Tell me, prettyboybob, do you have a camera phone or a digital camera? Yes? You do? Get it. It's in the house? Then what are you waiting for? Let's go. We're going to take a few pictures to commemorate this momentous occasion."
When the doctor sat frozen behind the steering wheel, the Joker pierced his skin with the knife just enough to conjure up a droplet of blood. "I said-d let's GO!"
They went into the house and Doctor Bob got his digital camera for the Joker. The Joker studied the camera for a few moments while he let Doctor Bob cry quietly and rub his face and eyes like a peevish toddler. He was delighted to find that the camera had a digital movie function.
"Ooooooh, Bobby-boy! I see You Tube greatness in your futurrre!" The Joker cackled and, when Doctor Bob began to cry even harder, the Joker cackled louder. Boisterous laughter was always the best release except, perhaps, for a particularly intense orgasm. Thoughts of his little Sprocket covered with his cum made the Joker instantly hard. Time for some fun with his favourite plastic surgeon!
The Joker set the camera up to face the doctor in the great room. Doctor Bob was naked and his face had been "Joker-fied," all white with black kohl eyes and a smile that stretched on forever. He was tied to the legs of a leather Ottoman, his belly resting on the middle of the expensive piece of furniture and his ass face up, at the edge of the Ottoman. In his mouth was lodged a wax banana, curving upward from his face in a very phallic presentation. The Joker turned the camera on, then walked around to face his future audience.
"Greetings, good-d people! Joker here. Miss me? I have a prezzie for all you, especially you nice ladies and gents who toil so diligentleee at Gotham General." The Joker slid to the right to reveal Doctor Bob. "I present-t Doctorrr Bob, plastic surgeon extraordinaire and jackass supreme! Ta-da!"
The Joker fiddled with the camera long enough to get a good close-up of Doctor Bob's tear-stained face. He then returned to continue his presentation.
"After all the hard work he's done to make people look like drones and clones in the Twilight Zone, Doctorrr Bob-b here found himself in need of a makeover. Who better to turn to but Yours Truleee." The Joker placed a purple-gloved hand on his heart and sucked in his lower lip. "I was so….touched…. So…honoured! So….first we need to get the good doctor to relax and come to grips with who's in charge here before the operation. We're going to do this by doing the one thing Doctor Bob loves almost as much as he loves himself. We're going to give Doctor Bob a nice, hard ass-fucking."
The Joker panned the camera back out and positioned himself behind the Doctor Bob's prone figure. Taking off his gloves, the Joker unzipped his trousers and spit in his left hand to lube himself up. He then spread Doctor Bob's ass cheeks and unceremoniously jammed his cock into him. Doctor Bob screamed, but the banana muffled most of it, making the scream sound more like a climactic moan.
The Joker skipped moving slowly to get his sex toy used to the sizable mass suddenly lodged deep inside him. He simply went to fucking the doctor fast and hard, grunting with enthusiasm each time he heard the doctor scream. The Joker grunted a lot. He hoped the camera's mic was good enough to pick up the slapping noise he was making with each inward thrust, when his groin and legs made contact with the doctor's increasingly red ass. It was like giving Doctor Bob a spanking with his cock.
"Wheeee-hooo! Ride 'em, cowboy! How are you doing there, Doctorrr Bob? Relaxing for your surgery? Are…you…enjoy—ing…this….as-much-as-I….am?" The Joker asked, his words coming out like the thrusts he was making into Doctor Bob. As he fucked away, the Joker calmly put his gloves back on, then placed his hands on Doctor Bob's hips. Bending his knees a little more, the Joker gripped the doctor hard and started ramming himself into him. "Do you like this, doctor? Do you like being fucked on camera? Do you like this as much as you do humiliating people, making them feel small and unworthy? You…are…unworthy. You repressed little fuck, you're the one who's unworthy."
The Joker pulled his cock out of Doctor Bob and began to rub himself in the doctor's ass crack. He came hard, shooting his cum all over the doctor's ass and back, all the while rubbing his happy cock up and down the length of Doctor Bob's crack. "Mmmmm….. You have a sweet sweet ass, Doctorrr Bob-b, but a nasty one. It would seem I need to clean up a tad."
Moving to the front of the Ottoman, the Joker yanked the wax banana out of Doctor Bob's cramped jaws and tossed it over his shoulder dismissively. "Lick it," he said, jutting his hips in the direction of Doctor Bob's face. The streaks of shit on the Joker's cock were beginning to dry and itch him a little and the flecks of offal in his ball hair were an equal discomfort. It needed to go and Doctor Bob was going to wash the Joker off, no question about it. All he needed was some encouragement to do the job and do it right. "I said lick it. LICK IT!"
He grabbed Doctor Bob by the back of the head and shoved his cock in face, smearing it with his own shit and the remnants of the Joker's semen. Whimpering, Doctor Bob extended his tongue and began to clean the Joker of the shit and spunk.
"We don't have all fucking night. There's still an oper-ration to perform, so hop to it, liver lips. You know you love it. Suck all that ass-candy goodness down. Clean me up good, fast and efficient-like, Doc-torrr BOB."
Doctor Bob did as he was told as his own camera recorded the event. While licking and sucking away at the Joker's partial erection, he began to squirm a little and protest his bonds. "What is it, Doctor Bob? What's wrong?"
Bending to the side to look around the Ottoman, the Joker began to cackle uncontrollably. "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-HA-HA-HA! I can't belieeeeve it!" The Joker addressed the camera. "Doctor Bob here has himself a raging hard-on from eating his own shit! How sexy do you hospital grunts think he is now, hm? HAHAHAHAHA! Shit-sucker!" And the Joker spit on Doctor Bob and waggled his cock in the doctor's face before tucking it away in his trousers and zipping himself up.
"Now for the surgery. Although…. I am really kind of fond of your new make-up strategy. It's just so pretty, my pretty boy." The Joker took on a particularly high falsetto and sang, "I'm so preeety, I'm so preeety, LA-LA-LALALALALA! Buuuut, no. You're already scheduled for the surgery, so surgery it shall beeee."
The Joker exhibited a small, very sharp knife. "Not quite a scalpel, but I think it'll do the job," the Joker said in a comforting tone. "No worries, Doctor Bob. I'm the second best plastic surgeon in all Gotham. I can slice and dice 'em like nobody's business!"
He knelt before Doctor Bob and, placing the knife edge on the doctor's forehead, he cut a very shallow gash all the way across. The doctor screamed. "Oh, we can't have that. Here," the Joker shoved the wax banana back into the doctor's mouth. "Have a banana!"
Once the doctor's screams were muffled, the Joker set to his work again, cutting shallow streaks all over Doctor Bob's head and face. There was no place on his face that didn't have a gash. Kneeling again, the Joker studied his work. "Do ya know who you remind me of, Doctor Bob? Didja everrr see Hellbound: Hellraiser 2? Y'see, there was this doctor, a psychiatrist in this case, who wanted to butcher minds more than he could with his usual toolzzz of the trad-de. He scrambled the brains of this poor woman so he could get to her autistic puzzle-solving daughter, in the hopes of this kid solving the Lament-t Configurationn and opening a portal to Hell for the good doctorrr. Well, he got his wish and ended up being a really fucking ugly Cenobite with cuts alllll over his face, just like you. So. That said, maybe you can get a new job as an agent of Hell now that your homosexually-repressed ladykilling nip-tuck days have suddenly come to a humiliating and painful end. Just remember all of this or, better yet, relive it in technicolour via your handy-dandy digital camera, the next time you insult the wrong person.
The Joker turned to the camera and bowed. "He's all yers, Batman. All the cuts are really shallow, so Doctor Bob is far from being in danger of dying. But I'm afraid there's no way he won't be scarred-d for life, probably in more ways than one. Maybe you can cover his head with a paper bag the next time you fuck 'im. Or maybe you can lend him one of your extra bat masks and pretend that you're fucking yourself, you narcissistic git-t. Gotta scoot now. I got a movie to upload. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!"
And the Joker turned off the camera. Rifling through the cables beside the nearby computer, he found the right one and set to uploading the movie to Doctor Bob's desk top. He then emailed it to himself so he'd have a copy to use when he turned this into a viral video. Lord knows, something like this would spread like virtual wildfire. "Heeheeheehee," the Joker chuckled quietly to himself while the doctor cried for mercy the best he could with a banana stuck in his mouth. He watched the action of the movie and commented at some of the highlights, looking over his shoulder at the bloodied and violated Doctor Bob. The Joker was relishing the fact that the doctor could see the computer screen and what was being played on it, knowing that it would reach computers worldwide within 24 hours. Tears made clear trails in the blood on his face and sank into the wounds. Awww, poor doc, the Joker thought. I should leave him alone with his thoughts for a while. I'll wait for an hour or so before calling Gotham's finest. That should give him the time he needs….to let those cuts scab over just right. Ha.
The Joker stood up from Doctor Bob's computer desk and turned to the ravaged mess on the Ottoman. "If it makes any of this any easier, Doctor Bob, you were a great fuck. Your ass was almost as pretty as your face. Well, I guess it's prettier now. Enjoy your new scars, pretty boy. Ta-ta!" He threw the camera at the foot of the Ottoman and left Doctor Bob to bleed and think and cry.
The Joker took out his can of red spray paint and proceeded to write "hahahaha" all over the walls and carpet of the doctor's great room. Making his way to the garage, the Joker wrote "Joker was here" before he got behind the wheel of Doctor Bob's Mercedes and drove off into the night. He enjoyed the smooth purr of the luxury vehicle for a couple of hours, then found a pay phone on the outskirts of Gotham. When some lackey at the Gotham Police Department answered, the Joker said, "Uhm, yes Mister po-lice lackey boy, Jokerrr herrre. I thought you might be interested in Doctor Robert Scott's new makeover. You'll find him at his fancy residence on Dillon Drive, tied to a leather Ottoman, well-fucked and sliced up, with a banana in his mouth. Yes, you heard me. A ba-na-na, a wax ba-na-na. You want me to spell that for you? And you're serious? B-A-N-A-N-A. Banana. Oh, and you better turn on your little bat light. The Batman will want to know about this one. Tell him there will be a movie, as well. Yes. The banana will be in the movie too. Gotta go now, little lackey man. Byeeeeee!"
He remembered clearly the phone call he got from Janet the next day. "Brad, you're not going to believe what's happened. Doctor Bob was assaulted in his home last night. Some psycho sliced him into ribbons! The news isn't reporting everything, but scuttlebutt at the hospital is suggesting that the poor man was sexually assaulted too."
"Poor man?" the Joker said, incredulous.
"He's here in the third floor ICU, if you want to come say hi. He'll live, but he's going to be scarred for life…in more ways than one. I hear that a psychiatrist will be visiting him before the day is up. Poor guy. He was always so handsome and sweet."
"What? He insulted the hell out of me and you last night. That 'poor man' had it coming."
"Brad! Shame on you. Don't you live by the turn the other cheek rule?" Janet admonished.
"Only if it's my ass cheek-k, Sweet Cheeks. Your 'poor mannn' can kiss mine, too. I'll pop into ICU just so he can do that if you think he's up to a little puckerrr."
Janet laughed, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend meant every word he'd said. The Joker laughed along with her, wondering how long it would take for that classic example of movie-making to surface on the Internet. He was sure that Wayne was using every resource he had available to stop its inevitable debut. That's what Mr. Squeaky Clean couldn't stand, too: that the Internet was much more user-friendly to someone like the Joker than it was to someone like him. But the Internet was like chaos made manifest. How on Earth could the Batman ever hope to overcome anything the Joker precipitated online when the virtual realm was the Joker's playground? Well, anywhere was the Joker's playground if he so chose, but some places were more inclined to his shenanigans than others, the Internet being one of them. The movie was already Out There. It was only a matter of time.
That had been two weeks ago, which brought the Joker back to present day with his asking Janet The Question. It was because of the movie the happy couple found themselves in this very unhappy situation. True to its chaotic nature, the Internet allowed the movie to be found by Janet, who was smart enough to put two and two together, but dumb enough to confront Brad about her suspicions. The minute she did, Brad died. They were at the Joker's abode when it happened, so Brad excused himself after laughing at Janet's absurd accusation, and he went to the bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror, the Joker dipped his head a little and narrowed his eyes as they danced along the pattern of scars on his face. Too pale. His smile was too pale. That needed to be changed. Now.
With slow deliberation, Brad carefully painted away his existence until only the Joker was left. The spray-on hair colour came last, then he changed into the required suit. When the Joker emerged from the bathroom, Janet squeaked like a mouse and moved to the exit. Being a large woman was to her detriment, though, as she was beat to the front door by the Joker with time to spare. He lifted his gloved index finger to her lips and said, "Sh. Be still, now. Let's not get our panties in a wad."
Janet stood there shaking. What was he going to do with her? She knew too much about him, even as Brad, for him to let her go. And it was obvious that she was too much of a do-gooder for him to ever trust her or for her to ever be loyal to him and his true nature. The way They had treated her hadn't gotten through that thick skull of hers that she'd never be accepted by Them, that she'd always be an outsider no matter how many of Their paltry little lives she helped to save. She'd turn on him now that she knew the truth because she didn't share his philosophy on the animal known as human.
No. It was obvious what had to be done.
"It looks like we're gonna have to break up, Gummi Worm. No-no, don't cry. You finding me out like this just makes things un-com-fortabullll, so it's best to end it now instead of kicking the dead horse, as they say. I'll miss you and I hope you'll miss me, my Brad-d to your Janet-t. Before we call it quits, though...d'you wanna know how I got these scars? Hm? Do you? Because it may explain some things. I'll take your trembling lower lip as an affirrrmative."
The Joker rolled his eyes and allowed his face a panged expression. "I was in Arkham being psycho-analysed by a fucking psycho who thought it was his god-given right to torment patients that couldn't afford private treatment and ended up, instead, in Arkham even if, like me, they didn't belong there in the first-t place. He was a sweet and handsome doctor much like your beloved Doctor Bob, who thought he was god's great gift just like your beloved Doctor Bob. Well, one day he came into my cell and sat down on the floor in front of me. I'd been scooting along trying to scratch my balls a la Cheech Marin and he sat there laughing at me a la Timothy Leary, but without the fucking LSD. He said, 'You know, if you just told us your name, I might let you scratch your balls sometime.' And I said, 'My balls can rot off before I ever play your fucking mind games.' And I spit right in his smug piggy face. Well, this psycho-analyst didn't cotton to such treatment, so he got up, locked my cell door from the inside, and turned back to me with a letter opener in his grubby little paw. Before the attendants could find the right key to get into my cell and get the doctor off me, he'd done this," and the Joker turned his face from side to side to better show the scars that Janet had kissed countless times with no questions at all. "A week later, I decided to check myself out of Arkham. A week after that, the good doctor was found hanging from his ceiling fan by his own scalp. Now… Two weeks ago, another good doctor decided to open his pie hole and let shit fly out of it with the sole purpose of psychologically harming the already psychologically fragile. You face your fragiliteee by ignoring it and being nice to the very people who call you freak to your face. I face mine by blowing the fuckers up, or shooting them, or cutting them, or raping and maiming their sorry asses. We could just continue on as Brad and Janet, ignoring each other's perceived-d short-comings or we could break up. Which do you think it should be, then, my little dip-stick?"
Janet lowered her eyes and tears dripped from them both when she did. The Joker put his hands in his pockets, knowing what her answer was going to be.
"Good-bye, Brad," she whispered, her voice the saddest thing the Joker had ever heard in his life.
"Good-bye, Janet." Before she knew it had happened, the Joker had shoved a large knife under her ribs and straight into Janet's heart. The symbolism wasn't lost on him as he watched her drop to the floor. He'd just broken her heart, so he may as well have stuck a knife in it. A little literal, yes, but it worked. He left the knife where it was. The Joker usually liked to retrieve his cutlery but he didn't think he'd use that one again. It had served its purpose. He stepped over Janet's body and returned to the bathroom to retrieve his war paint. Stuffing it and his other purple suit in a bag, the Joker prepared to leave his home of four months behind. Everything else there belonged to Brad.
Before he left, he took a Sharpie and wrote on the wall above Janet: HERE LIES NURSE CHAPPELL, WHO DIED FOR LOVE. R.I.P.
He then went to Janet's apartment to scour any sign of him from that residence. Rummaging through her closet, the Joker came across one of many of Janet's nurse uniforms. He cocked his head, pondering. Just like a health care worker, a health care worker's uniform may come in handy. You just never know. The Joker yanked the dress from its hanger and put it into his bag.
"Good-bye, Janet," the Joker repeated quietly, then turned and left the apartment behind for good. By the time he reached the street, he was giggling at the fact that the movie had finally debuted on the Internet and that everyone who mattered in Gotham, including Bruce Wayne, had probably already seen it. Some days were better than others and this one had been a real doozy.
©Tracy Angelina Evans
Darth Shriek
20 February, 2009
In memory of Heath Ledger, Prince Conor and the one and only Joker