I loved dark Knight, and I couldn't rest until this was on paper. And then I thought, what the hell, I'll put it up.
They call me mad, the people who come and go. In their long white coats they give complicated names to something so simple.
Maybe I am mad, but no more than the rest of these fools, scrabbling through the shards of their precious city, piecing shard after shard together with arthritic hands.
Oh, they make it stronger, sturdier, but all the more fun to break.
They want to know what I want, and what do I want? I want the ecstasy that comes from destruction, the knowing that I can do everything and the people around me follow the set rules, morals ethics, laws.
And I know that for every building I blow up, every mob-boss I kill, it sets off a chain reaction, my very own fuse to use. Because I don't have any weak words holding me back, I can be good, I can be Batman.
I could swing off rooftops and kill petty criminals. But why? Why would I when I can do so many other things.
But what do I want? That's a difficult question doc. Because I don't want money or power, so I'm not all that bad.
I don't want women or food. I have a grip on chaos and I ride it, I ride it all the way to the end, past death. And I will not stop. Nothing can stop, and I just wait for the right moment to make my move, the right person to kill, the one that will set off the longest chain yet. Because that'd be fun to watch, why I even might be caught in the cross-fire.
I like to talk, I like to laugh, that's why they call me the Joker, but I'm also anti-social, not a good mix, so prescribe me my meds doctor because I won't stop. I will never be still or silent, I just want to see what happens when I kill that pretty wife of yours, and your two lovely sons. Strapping young lads. And your dog, I hate dogs. I hate kids. But I like your wife, what is her name? Cassie?
Creepy Cassie and her pancakes doc. That's what you had for breakfast this morning isn't it? Pancakes with butter and cream and maple syrup.
You want to know how I got these scars doc?
I bet you do, because your scribbling on your piece of paper, hoping I don't see the sweat on your forehead.
I had a sister, much like your's, the shame of the family locked up in the basement, and then one day we left the door open, and she came up the stairs to where I was getting a glass of water.
And She wanted to say hello.
She wanted to play.
Do you feel the coldness doc?
But it'll get hot soon, pain is a type of heat.
And my sister wanted a dolly, but I was squirming to much. She wanted to play doctor, so she took my temperature with a piece of glass, like she always had those monthly check-ups you guys are so fond of.
But you can feel how I felt, your coffee cup is much the same as my glass of water, and you shouldn't drop glass things. That's dangerous.
And she asked my why I didn't have big red lips like her other dollies, why I wasn't smiling.
Why I couldn't see the joke.
But I do doc, I can see it now. I think you would too, but I'm not goint to kill you. That's much too messy, much too quick, and I have an appointment with your family.
I can smell every stinking putrefying particle on you. And you are grimy.
Disgusting. Oily and dusty, dry and moist It's oozing from under your fingernails and in your hair, and you can't see it.
Oh, doc, I did take my meds, like the good little patient I am. I also took the head off the pretty nurse.
Hehe, doc don't be silly, It's too big to swallow.
A man of your age shouldn't be breathing so fast.
What's the matter? My games gone to your head?
But we were having so much fun, where are you going? I'm not cured yet,
I'm not done with you
I just didn't get it right, I can't get the Joker down, zip, zero, null. His personality is so complex that it's impossible to know what he is thinking, what he will think. There are only three people that really understand what the Joker is truly like and that is Heath Ledger, Alan Moore, and Jack Nicholson.
But I tried and that's what counts right?
So yeah, It makes no sense...So what? Back off.