The Joker woke up in bed next to a sleeping, naked blonde woman facing away from him. Which was unusual, he thought, in the vague state of alertness between sleeping and waking – normally the dumb blonde was practically suffocating him in his sleep, and would wake him with some awful and ultimately futile attempt to seduce him. He decided to beat her to the punch today.
"Just skip the pathetic display this morning and go make coffee, would ya, kid?" he muttered, yawning and draping an arm around her. "Daddy's not in the mood to make whoopie cushion."
The woman stirred. "Mmm, you didn't call yourself Daddy last night, but I like it," she purred, turning to face him. "And what about a whoopie cushion?"
Joker's eyes widened in shock as he realized that this particular naked blonde woman wasn't Harley Quinn. He sat up with a start.
"Jesus Christ…what happened last night?!" he exclaimed, trying to fathom some sort of explanation.
But he thought he remembered last night very clearly, and nothing out of the ordinary had occurred – he'd had a plan to blow up the orphanage, foiled by the Bat, they'd had a good punch up, he had escaped and rushed home to Harley, who had bandaged him up, and then they had gone to sleep, despite Harley's strong and not so subtle hints that she'd enjoy some playtime. Maybe he had sleepwalked into someone else's home? That didn't seem likely. Maybe Harley was playing a prank on him because of the lack of sex? That seemed even less likely. As his brain scrambled desperately for some explanation, the blonde woman smiled up at him, cuddling closer.
"Good morning to you too, big boy," she whispered.
"Well, I am big," agreed Joker. "So at least that makes sense…where's Harley? She's gonna kill me for being in bed with a naked woman, even if this ain't what it looks like!"
"Who's Harley?" asked the blonde, yawning.
"You stupid or something?" demanded Joker. "Harley Quinn! My girlfriend!"
"I thought she was the Joker's girlfriend," said the girl, yawning again.
"You blind and stupid?" snapped Joker. "Who do you think I am?!"
"Is this a trick question?" asked the blonde, looking confused. "Because the guy I went to bed with last night was handsome billionaire playboy and philanthropist Bruce Wayne. And what do you know, he's still here this morning," she added, grinning at him. "I hear that's a rare occurrence for a girl, so I'm flattered. But if you want me to make sure that's who you are, I can point out some very distinctive birthmarks I noticed last night…" she began, pulling back the covers.
Joker grabbed them away from her, pulling them up to his chest. "What the hell do you think you're do…" he began, but then he noticed his hands, and his chest. They were flesh-colored, instead of his usual unnatural white skin. And far, far more muscular than his ever were.
"Oh no," he murmured, realizing that something was deeply, deeply wrong. He lifted up the sheets, getting a glimpse of himself under the covers. "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "No, no, no, this isn't good! What's happened to my body?! My beautiful, beautiful body!"
"It sure is," began the blonde, cuddling against his chest, but he shoved her violently away and off the bed with a shriek. Then he stood up, storming over to a floor-length mirror in the corner of the room.
"Oh God!" he cried, clapping his hands to his face in horror. "I'm Bruce Wayne!"
The image that was reflected back at him in the mirror was indeed the handsome playboy billionaire. "How could this have happened?!" he cried. "Why me?! Of all the people to be stuck as, I'm this dumb, rich son of a…" began Joker, and then he paused as a slow smile formed on his face. "Very, very rich son of a gun," he murmured. "Well, I don't know what the hell is going on, but if the joke's on me, I'm gonna milk it for all it's worth! This has a lotta comedic potential! The rich know how to have fun, right?"
He chuckled, heading back toward the bed. The girl had picked herself up and opened her mouth to say something when Joker threw her clothes at her.
"Here, get dressed and get outta here, sweetheart – no joke in you," he retorted. "And call my butler on the way out, will you? I got some orders to give!"
"Are you gonna call me later?" she demanded, dressing.
"Nope," retorted Joker. "I don't remember the sex, but it probably wasn't that good, and frankly a handsome playboy billionaire such as myself can find a much, much hotter woman than you. I don't even know what I was thinking last night, settling like that. Must have had other things on my mind. Don't call me again!" he chuckled, shoving her out the door. He giggled to himself as he dressed in the brown suit thrown on the floor.
"Gotta do some shopping to improve old Brucie's style!" he laughed to himself. "He needs some more purple in his wardrobe!"
"You're in a merry mood this morning, Master Bruce," commented Alfred, entering the room with the breakfast tray. "Did Miss Barbeau's company prove diverting?"
"I'd give it a fifty-four," retorted Joker. "It's got a good beat and you can dance to it."
"Sir?" repeated Alfred, puzzled.
"Never mind," sighed Joker, rolling his eyes. "Can't expect a Brit to get an American Bandstand reference, I guess."
"You're not usually in the habit of making references to obscure TV shows, Master Bruce," commented Alfred, setting down the breakfast tray.
"Well, I'm feeling like a new man today, Jeeves old boy!" chuckled Joker. "This Master Bruce is gonna be a lot more…what the hell is this crap?" he demanded, pointing at the cereal bowl on the breakfast tray which contained soggy, brown flakes.
"Bran flakes, sir," replied Alfred. "Your usual. Healthy for the heart and mind."
Joker picked up the bowl, examining its contents, and then flung them suddenly at Alfred. "Sir…" he stammered, stunned.
"Bring me two tall stacks of pancakes and waffles swimming in a lake of syrup!" snapped Joker. "I'm a billionaire, and I should eat like one! And bacon! Lots of bacon!"
"…right away, sir," stammered Alfred, heading back to the kitchen and wiping off his uniform.
"Morning, Alfred," said Dick Grayson, leaving his room. "What happened to you?"
"Master Bruce just threw his bran flakes at me," said Alfred. "He's acting very strangely, sir – did anything unusual happen last night?"
"No, same old, same old," said Dick, shrugging. "Diffused some bombs at the last minute, kicked Joker around some, and then home in time for Bruce's date. It was a pretty standard night, really."
"I don't know how to explain it then, sir," said Alfred. "But the master is simply not himself."
"Huh. Maybe things with Adrienne didn't go so well," said Dick, frowning. "I'll go talk to him."
He knocked on the door to Bruce's room. "Come in!" called the Joker, cheerfully.
Dick opened the door to see what he thought was Bruce going through his closet and throwing most of the clothes into a pile on the floor. "Boring, boring, nope, nope, no…well, I guess the Hawaiian shirt can stay…I went through a phase of wearing those a few years back…"
"Doing some spring cleaning, Bruce?" asked Dick.
"Yes, I am!" said Joker, happily "This whole wardrobe is a little too dark for my taste – we need some colors to make it more fun! Think I'll wear the Hawaiian shirt today, with some khaki shorts and sandals. What do you think, kid?" he asked, holding it up.
"I think that would be an odd choice to wear to the board meeting," replied Dick. "Not to mention your investment meeting with Luthor later."
"Lexy!" exclaimed Joker, beaming. "Oooh, I'm looking forward to that! Wonder if he'll let me rub his head for good luck!" he chuckled, going back to sorting through the clothes.
"You're looking forward to meeting with Luthor? You are in a weird mood, huh?" asked Dick. "Everything ok?"
"I've never felt better in my life, kid," replied Joker.
"You do know who I am, right?" asked Dick, slowly. "Dick Grayson? Your ward?"
Joker laughed hysterically. "Your name's Dick?" he giggled. "Wait, wait, wait, lemme guess, the butler calls you…Master Dick!"
He burst into fits of laughter, and Dick just stared at him in astonishment. "Bruce…what's gotten into you?" he asked.
"Somebody a lot more fun, kid!" chuckled Joker.
"Do you remember…who you are?" asked Dick, slowly.
"Of course I do!" laughed Joker. "And if I didn't, I could just pick up a newspaper! I'm Bruce Wayne, celebrity billionaire and playboy philanthropist!"
"And that's it, huh?" asked Dick.
"Of course that's it!" retorted Joker. "Isn't that enough? Who else would I be?"
"Nobody," said Dick, hastily. "Well, I'll see you around, Bruce."
He left Bruce laughing to himself and headed for the kitchen to see Alfred, who was cooking pancakes. "You were right," said Dick. "He's definitely bought the funny farm. And he doesn't seem to remember that he's Batman."
"We must help him remember, sir, at once," said Alfred. "What will this city do without Batman?"
"I think it would be a bad idea to mention it to him," said Dick, slowly. "At least until we figure out what exactly is wrong with him. There's just something very familiar about the way he talks, and…the way he laughs. I mean, have you ever known Bruce to genuinely and hysterically laugh at anything?"
"No," agreed Alfred. "Never."
"There's something really funny going on," said Dick. "And not the good kinda funny."
"Did somebody say funny?" chuckled Joker, entering the room suddenly dressed in the Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and sandals.
"We were just talking about this comedy on TV, Bruce," invented Dick, quickly.
"Now there's an idea!" exclaimed Joker. "Jeeves, I'll be taking my breakfast in the lounge so I can watch some TV on my giant screen, y'know, that I can afford being a billionaire and all."
"Very good, sir," said Alfred. "But don't forget you have the board meeting at Wayne Enterprises in about an hour."
"Sure, sure," said Joker, waving his hand. "I'm already dressed, so just let me know when the car's ready."
"…you're wearing that to the board meeting, sir?" asked Alfred, slowly.
"Got a problem with that?" demanded Joker. "I'm a billionaire, so I can wear what I like. Fashion follows me – I don't follow fashion!"
"…very good, sir," stammered Alfred.
"I'm heading to the Batcave to do some research," muttered Dick as Joker left, whistling. "See if any weird phenomenon occurred last night that could explain this."
"Good luck, Master Dick," said Alfred. "I have never meant that more sincerely."
Dick left, and Alfred piled up the breakfast and headed into the lounge. Joker was seated sprawled on the sofa and flipping through the thousands of channels.
"…Batman foiled Joker's plot to blow up the orphanage last night…" said the newsreader, and Joker paused at that, chuckling as they flashed pictures of himself onto the screen.
"Look at that handsome maniac!" he laughed, as Alfred placed the tray down in front of him. "Now there's a man with fashion sense, Jeeves! Also much more well-endowed than me, did you know that?"
"…no, sir," stammered Alfred. "I can't imagine how you know that."
"Well, I'm jealous of a lotta things about him," said Joker, nodding. "But I guess everyone is, right? The guy's got it all – the royal flush! Looks, brains, sense of humor! At least, he used to have the looks," he muttered, frowning, as a horrible thought just entered his head. "But that must mean somebody else has got 'em now."
Then he shrugged, chuckling again. "What a great gag!" he laughed. "And the joke's gonna be on poor Harley! I can't wait to see how she reacts to this!"