So the five of them rushed the dude to the hospital. Joker included. The other four, according to my notes, are Bruce "Deadshot" Wayne, Kathy "Deadshot Lady" Kane, Selina "Kitten" Kyle, and Pamela "No Superhero name as of this chapter" Isley. Fuck, she's so hot. Walks barefoot, what a hippie. It's cute though, like a peacenik. You figure you can be honest with her, say stuff like, "Oh, I write Batman fanfic" and she won't judge, because if she does, you can always say "Well at least I have fucking shoes on, get a job!". Not that it comes to that. But, it's good to know you have the option.
Now some of you are thinking, strange that The Joker of all people would be helping some nerd rando get to the O.R. But, that's the type of guy he is. He'll do everything in his power to prevent the death of an innocent person, even if it means killing thousands of innocent persons. No time for us to put our costumes on, and since dad (your uncle) is inside, we'll need to hide here. Joker, you go in with Pam, tell my dad what happened. If anyone can save the Riddler, it's him. Motherfucker could operate on the Headless Horseman.
The two come inside, carrying the gold-clad poindexter. Nurses all gather round. And they gaze in wide wonder. At the Riddler they found. Head nurse spoke up. Said "Take this one to the O.R.". She could tell right away. They'd need to saw some bone.
Doctor Thomas Wayne is the surgeon. Something in his brain, could be a tumor. His student is observing, He knows all about tumors, since, you know, two parents died on account of them. And four grandparents. And eight great-grandparents. Runs in the family.
"We need to relieve pressure on the skull." Says Wayne. Blood everywhere. "Give me one of the cutty-things doctors use. Nurse!"
"Doesn't look like any tumor I've ever seen." says Kirk. "More like an overripe fruit."
"I'm cutting it open, he'll die if I don't." At least then he'll have a fighting chance.
"Looks like a brain alright, just not a human one." Kirk adds. "Whale."
"Dammit, Kirk, I'm a doctor, not an ichthyologist!" berates Thomas.
"Ichthyologists are for fish. Whales are mammals." Well, Sean, my interns aren't. Sorry, it's kinda out of character, but I can't resist a Scrubs reference. I'm no Superman.
"So, his brain's too big for his skull?" Asked the nurse with the big tits. "It was going to burst?"
"I've heard of it before. Cephalomegaly. Incredibly rare." Thomas said, the brain still attached to the spine. "He's as good as dead."
"He'll never walk again." Corpses don't walk, Kirk. Joe Chill should become a corpse. "But he can live. In a way."
I knew I should've brought the thermogun. Freeze him, and wait for the cure. It gets kinda practical after a time. Can you imagine, a future where everyone goes into the hospital, they freeze them, and only thaw them once they're good and healthy? Short story idea right there. The twist is, doctors don't need to rush, so they get lazy. People spend years cryogenically frozen. Society collapses. Black Mirror.
"He's not a handsome man." said Kirk, who was one to talk. "Not athletic, but smart. Let's save what we can use. The gold matter." And they did. They Saved Riddler's Brain.
Brain in a jar. Joker's mouth's ajar.
Funny aside. We're talking about the Riddler, and I made the "a jar/ajar" joke, but the thing is, in the sixties, Frank Gorshin released a novelty album as the Riddler. There were riddles in it, and one of the riddles were, "When is a door not a door? When it's ajar." Funny, huh, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'll namedrop Two-Face since we're talking about Gorshin because I don't think I'll have the opportunity again, and Kirk was just 120 words ago.
"What, so, he's a brain...in a jar?" asked the Joker, scientifically.
"Yes, but, hes alive thanks to the iron lung. It floods the brain with oxygen, which feels good." Explained Pamela, who had tried oxygen before.
"Can he do anything?" he asked, dragging the marotte to the brain. Carefully.
"He can't hear us without ears. Would need a brain-to-machine interface to communicate, really." She said. She's a main character now, I guess.
Ironically, the only person intelligent enough to develop this type of machinery is...the Golden Riddler. He'll just spend the rest of his life, locked in, I guess. Locked in, locked in...can he move his eyes? No muscles, so, no. But what about the pupils?
"His pupils, they dilate again and again." she observed. "Like a flashing light. Morse Code."
"You mean the communication technique developed in eighteen thirty-six by Samuel Morse?" asked the Joker.
"Yes, I can read it. Writing it down, pen and paper" Pam and paper joined forces to translate Nygma's thoughts. Gee Eee Tee Space Emme Eee Space Ay Space Tee Are Ay Enn Ess Elle Ay Tee Oh Are. Bee I Enn Ay Are Why Space Emme Ay Cee Eight I Enn Eee.
The doctors and scientists start working on it. It's a simple camera on a computer, running light analysis software. The software translates it pretty fast – dilated pupils mean zero, undilated ones mean one. Zeroes and ones, the brain is speaking binary. And if it speaks binary, it can program.
"This is amazing." Joker said, flabbergasted. "Nygma's telling the doctors how to understand him. He's building a program using only his eyes. He's achieved more today than every other scientist in the entire history of the world."
Still can't get laid. Just a brain in a jar.
"It's a mad world." Pamela said. Also amazed. And amazing. Remember, we're talking about a very attractive girl here. You'd think Joker only has eyes for his marotte, but, let's be honest. Sparks are flying.
"So, you'll come back with us?" asked Pamela. "To the basement of Wayne Tower? You know Bruce and Kathy are curious about who yo are."
"I'll come back, sure." The clown nodded, politely as we all know the Joker to be. "But on my own terms, remember. I'm nobody's puppet." Though he dresses like one. Punch and Judy puppet. He wants Pamela for his Judy.
Now we're talking a six-man group! Bruce, Kathy, Ozzy, kitten, Pam and Joker. All in the basement. Kinda like Friends in Central Perk. Let's think… Bruce would be Ross, Kathy's Monica since they're related. Ozzy is Chandler, because nerd. I guess kitten would be Phoebe because there are some cat themes to Phoebe in some episodes. Which leaves Joker as Joey (both start with J) and Pam as Rachel. Not a perfect analogy, but, perfect analogies are oxymorons, and since bad analogies can also be oxymorons, the better an analogy is, the worse an analogy is.
"Well." Joker was there. "What do you want to know?"
"Let's start with a name." said Bruce, smoking a bat-cigarette.
"Watt's in a name." answered the Joker. "I mean, my name is Watt. Trink Watt."
"Never heard of no dude named Trink." quacked Linux.
"I believe there's a lot of stuff you don't hear, since people prefer being silent when you're around, lest their noise alert you to their presence and thus confuse you into believing it's an invitation for your presence near them." the Joker explained "Which, as we all know, is rather undesirable."
"Your mom." Muttered Linux.
Still, the name Trink Watt doesn't mean anything. Shakespeare reference, ooo, so erudite. You mean you went to high school, congrats. Marlowe is much cooler.
"That name means nothing, nevertheless." Bruce said, while Linux was duckduckgoing the name online. "What's your true story?"
"I, I must say, Bruce Wayne. I don't really know why you care." Said the Joker. "I have no story. Or, rather, I have a story that's as unique and as common as everyone else in the world."
You see, I (I'm the Joker now) was born in Cleveland, like a certain comic book artist. My father was a dentist, and my mother lost a lot of money on Tupperware. My sister married my father's partner in the practice when I was 14. I played baseball. I went to State with a liberal arts degree, but I had to drop out once dad had a stroke, so I could take care of him. My mom joined the church of Raël and divorced him so she could move in with a psychic doula named Beauty. They died of toxic shock syndrome after trying a pirate Jade Egg.
As normal as it gets.
I was working on an electronics shop then, and that's where I met Marotte. She wanted a digital recording camera for her ballet classes. (We're talking about a meter-long puppet here, but the class doesn't discriminate). So she told me about fighting crime in Gotham. Once my father passed away, I told my sister, Jokerella, I wanted to move to Gotham to pursuit a showbiz career. Her going-away present to me was lead makeup and the rest of my costume.
"But you don't always fight crime. You're sometimes on the wrong side of the law." Bruce told me. I was getting to that.
I'm nobody. I lie, I lie about lying, I'm untrustworthy, I cheat on my wife, which isn't easy considered I'm a lifelong bachelor. I do so much cocaine it's made my long nose flat and my pink face white. I lied to my sister about going to Gotham, and I lied to you when I told you I had a sister. The whole thing is a House of Cards, and all the cards are Jokers.
"That's not a satisfying answer." said Bruce.
"I'm checking the internet, doesn't seem to be anything with the name Trink Watt." said Linux. "Just automatically-generated pages and GIGO."
I keep a low profile.
"So low, it's nonexistent." said the hottie next to Bruce. Not Pam, the other one, the cousin one, Kathy. I prefer Pam, to be honest, but, you know how guys are. If it has breasts and weights less than 55 kilograms, send it to my bed.
The lass kept talking as I objectified her, which I'm used to, since my best friend is an object. "If you attended college, they'd have entrance records on you."
All records from my school burned in a fire (which I caused) before being digitized.
"If you cared for your father, your name should be in some hospital's archives." she said.
Hollistic medicine. They don't keep records because they're a bunch of quacks, so they don't want their repeated failures etched in stone.
"That's true." said the kitten.
"It is true." said Kathy.
"It's true." said Pam.
"He's saying the true." said Linux.
"Fuck Joe Chill." said Bruce.
I really don't see why you people even care. Who are you, World's greatest detective? Drives me bats. Sherlock Holmes was a skinny bohemian who applauded himself when looking at a vault. You already have a vault full of money. You're young, strong, smart, handsome, rich, popular, healthy and sane. Most people would be happy to be one of those things. Why aren't you? Just, forget about me, live your life.
"Hypocrite." the ginger spoke. Pam-cake. How do you figure, little cutiepie? Because I'm not happy? No I won't marry you, my bonny-be-girl, no I won't marry you, my darling? Sounds like a good deal, for both of us, does it not? I steal you away from soldier girl, and keep you busy with my phallus. Meanwhile, Bruce forgets about fighting crime and spinning bat-ropes and undergoes the greatest adventure of all time, love.
Because I can see, as clear as my skin, that Bruce loves Kathy, and Kathy loves Pam, and Pam loves Joker, and Joker loves Pam, and Pam loves Kathy and Kathy loves Bruce. Though Joker doesn't love Bruce. Because Joker is Bruce, and Bruce doesn't love himself? TBD
Meanwhile, Linux loves kitten, and kitten loves kitten. But kitten loves that Linux loves kitten, so she's okay with him. Sounds kinda sad, but I've seen sadder things irl. Besides, she's cute.
Will I get on my knees, in front of the girl of my dreams?
Will I pop the ring-pop out of the ring box where the boxed ring is inside of? Will she smile with her blue eyes and red red hair and jump up and down with joy and say yes, oh yes, a million times yes? Yes. So I'm engaged and happy and forgot all about that Joker thing that's for cunts. But, wait, am I Bruce or am I Joker?
Whomever I am, I lied about the Trink thing. Never trust a dude with makeup on, because if he tells you something, it is madeup.
Chapter Eleven, starting in five, four, three, (two), …