May 20, 2006
MAJOR horrible panic today. I've only been here twenty-four hours and I've managed to get Mr J upset at me. I'm just no good for anything. See, this morning, I wake up to the un-lovely sound of much muffled crashing downstairabouts. I run down there as fast as I could, thinking maybe Cerby and Fenny'd gotten loose and was attacking The Goons- only to find Mr J throwing all my stuff around, including the box with all my CDs in it. It's also the box that usually has my diary in it, but it didn't this morning, on account of the fact that it was in Mr J's hand. I was scared he was going to start ripping the pages out or something, but when he looked in my direction he luckily threw it at me instead.
"Puddin!" I wailed. (I started picking up my CDs too, but they were all broken, including my Mary Prankster and the Sex Pistols. Pooh.) "What's the matter, Puddin? Did I do something?"
He stopped in mid destruction-of-property and pointed accusingly at YOU, diary. "So the Bat-boob has cheese-grater abs, does he?" he yelled. "It wasn't enough for you to call them washboard, they had to be cheese-grater! And not only is that not funny at all, but I didn't see anything about MY abs in there." And you know, my puddin was right. It was a GREVIOUS oversight. So I write it down now, for all of posterity; Mr J has the best abs, legs, chest, chin, and the SWEETEST smile known to all mankind. I am the sometime-girlfriend of a sex god.
I managed to calm Mr J down with a minimum of further destruction (not that he wasn't perfectly right to be upset) and once he was through yelling at me and pulling me around by the cowl, I managed to get you, diary, back from him after promising I would refer to the hyenas as Bud and Lou (I guess they are better names than Cerberus and Fenrir, even if they aren't my favorites) and to talk about the appeal of my Prince of Puns more often. It's a fair cop.
So once my puddin was his lovable self again, we sat down and he explained a little more about the Pica Rosea. It's this rare Spanish rose that contains one of the key ingredients of his Joker Toxin. Red's got the only one in the US of A. The Gotham City Botany Fair is being held on June 1, and Mr J's bought us a booth. I ask him why, botany not really being his bag; he explains that Pica Rosea LOOKS just like a normal rose, and he's going to sell it in corsages and boutonnières at the fair. Then he'll have one of the Goons spray the other key ingredients from a helicopter, and everyone wearing the Pica Rosea will be INSTANTLY afflicted with a joker smile while we run amok, grabbing all valuables!
Sometimes I wonder where he thinks up these plans. If I was the brains of the operation, I'd be liable just to get a bunch of Goons with guns surround people in a kind of high-profile but more-or-less simple mass mugging. Mr J sure got the brain of a genius; the scientific world lost a great man when he turned to crime! Anyway, I've just stopped off for a cappuccino on the way to Toxic Acres, but I better be moving along. I'll probably have to break in, since Red's still at Arkie, which is always fun as long as the cops don't notice. I wonder how Mr B would react if he saw me breaking in to Ivy's? Is it still break-and-enter when it's being done to another crook?
LOVE HARLEY