Competition, or Just Bad Company?
"All it takes is one bad day to turn a man into a monster. Well in my case, a bad day and a chemical bath." The Joker
I hear the door to my tiny cell open and notice the two apes, I mean guards, but my god do they look like apes. Anyway, as I was saying, I hear the door to my tiny cell open and notice the two guards ushering in an older woman. She's much older than me with dark hair and the face of a hag.
She doesn't seem to be a threat to me, nor did she seem to be any form of competition to me. My god was I wrong. As far as jokes go, I could beat her any day, oh boy would I love to beat her, beat her to death with a 100 pound sword fish. Focus 'J'! Anyhow, as far as jokes go, I could beat her any day, but as far as psychosis and evilness go, I hate to admit it, but she gives me a run for the money.
Seeing as how I'm going to be stuck with her for a while, I decided I'd try to start a conversation with the old woman. Maybe I could find out how she ended up at Arkham Asylum to begin with. I needed to find a topic of conversation to start with and I noticed that she was in a straight jacket and shackles, so I decided to ask her about that.
For I had moved up in the world and I was now in only shackles, no more straight jacket for me! Anyway, I asked her about the straight jacket and shackles, and boy do I regret it now!
She tells me that doc. Arkham claims that she is a threat to herself, the staff and the other inmates as well. I pause for a moment, allowing a look of perplexity to cross over my face, and then I laugh my ass off! This is much too rich; the doctor thinks that SHE is a threat to the other inmates! I've already murdered two guards and four other inmates, for Christ's sake; and if she thinks that she can battle wits against the harlequin of hate, I say bring it on honey! I'd love to see her try. She thinks its scary being locked in an asylum; I'll give her something to truly fear. Something scarier than what the Scarecrow can concoct, but enough of that, I'll save her death for later.
I ask one of the baboons why she, is in here, and he tells me that she is abusive towards her children! Bah! All I can think is honey you should see the kinds of things I put poor Harley through. I decide to be a nice guy for once in my life and let her continue on with her rant about how "dangerous" and "psychotic" she is, and all the while, I'm concocting ways to kill her.
Maybe I could strangle her with the straight jacket she has on. Oh, but then I'd end up back in solitary confinement and the games just aren't as much fun when you don't have a partner to play them with. She continues on about how her children make life oh so difficult for her. I chuckle to myself, she's obviously never had to spend a day with a Harley Quinn attached to her side.
For some stupid reason I continue to listen to her "poor me" cries and her "my children are so terrible to me, I only wanted to be a good mother" rants. She tells me that she has five children and she never wanted any of them. I lie back against the wall and roll my eyes, thinking, "then why couldn't you have kept your legs shut before you created the first one." Being the nice guy that I am, I allow her to ramble on. Her face looks really funny when she gets angry. Now where is there a shark tank and one hundred and fifty gallons of orange soda when you need them, hmmm?
Maybe I could fill it with piranhas instead, or fill it with half orange soda and half Joker Venom, anything to silence this goofy old bitch for eternity.
She continues on about her "horrible children" citing examples such as, "My children don't love me." I think to myself, "you have to first give love, and then you can earn it bitch!" Wait, this coming from me? Although I still believe that I treat Harley much better than this woman treats her children, for I at least pretend to care about Harley. This woman cares about nothing but herself.
Anyway, back to trying to kill her. I wonder if she likes pie. I also wonder if she prefers it being shoved down her throat while she's restrained so that she chokes to death on it, or if she prefers it baked with massive doses of arsenic and cyanide, or if she simply prefers it with a live grenade buried in it? I make the stupid move of asking her if she likes pie. Oh god, I feel another fifty minute rant coming on! I try to ignore her and entertain myself by singing songs in my head, such as Jimmy Cracked Corn and I am Henry the Eighth. I am stopped abruptly when she mentions that she slapped her daughter over a piece of pie! That takes some special kind of evil, or stupid, though I'm not sure which.
I almost feel as if I should applaud this woman for being the world's greatest bitch!
I ask her to tell me more stories of how her children treat her horribly, what can I say, I'm a glutton for torture.
As she continues on, she begins telling me that she is a much nicer person when she drinks. Then, why can't she stay inebriate all of the time? The completely drunk don't seem to talk as much. Whiskey and vodka get people drunk quickly, hmm... maybe I could douse her with liquor and set her on fire. I'd make her my own personal fire sparkler, or I could stuff dynamite down her throat and make her my own roman candle! Viva Independence Day!
I could invite her to have a drinking contest with me and poison her liquor bottle. My god this would be so much easier if they hadn't confiscated my gun when I got here. Contraband weapons my ass! This just means that I have to think of more colorful ways to kill her.
Oh no! She is starting to speak to me again! My god, did she just honestly ask me if I'm supposed to be some sort of a clown! She wants to know why I'm wearing Halloween make-up. This woman has obviously never heard about me, or any of my crimes, let alone my beginnings at Ace Chemical. I tell her that yes, I am a mutated clown harlequin hybrid creature, but I once was a human, equipped with feelings and all. I continue to tell the horrific story of how I fell into a vat of chemicals and arose with chalk white skin, green hair, a horrific smile and altered D.N.A. of course.
To my amazement she isn't scared. She's actually laughing at me; oh I'll give this bitch something to laugh about. I'll make her laugh herself to sleep, an infinite sleep. I'll maker laugh herself to death, and believe me; I am qualified for the job. I'm the Clown Prince of Crime, the Harlequin of Hate; I'm The Joker of course.