Disclaimer: I don't own. I don't make any money from this, but if DC felt
like throwing some my way, I wouldn't object.
Summary: A Journal Entry from the personal logs of a certain mad clown.
A Journal in One Part
By The Clown Prince of Crime
Today I killed some people. I can't really remember how many. Death is such
a relative thing. I mean. sometimes it's better to kill more, sometimes its
better to kill well. I guess it depends on how your day's going. I think I
killed a marginal mount of people in a marginally creative way. Kinda split
down the middle (quantity versus quality that is, actually the people in
question were beaten to death with frozen fish).
There were, of course, the folks that killed to get out of Arkham, who were
not beaten to death with frozen fish. Actually, I didn't kill that MANY to
get out, and I didn't even kill them well. One I electrocuted with the live
wires from the security system around my cell. He lit up like a Christmas
tree, and his eyeballs burned. Smelly, yet kinda nifty too, if I do say so
myself. The niftiness doesn't make up for the fact that his fat dead
carcass slid down the wall and his hot, smoldering face landed on my shoe.
Then there were the two officers that came charging me, when the alarm was
raised that their favorite patient had gotten loose. Trust me, you have to
hit REALLY hard with a night stick to impale someone on it. You have to
drive it even harder if you want to impale TWO of them.
I was just going to smash their skulls in. I considered it my Christmas
present to myself-reliving the euphoric joy of killing SmartAss Robin® all
those years ago. But then Harley starts whining like a white-faced banshee
about how I, her Puddin', couldn't possibly plan on leaving her there to
Of course I could. I was absolutely perfectly contented with the prospect
of being on one side of the Arkham Asylum gates, and her being on the
other. The woman's a leach that just won't die. I don't believe in God, but
I believe in Satan. And I think Satan sent her to torment me.
Ok, it was fun to lead her on during our therapy sessions, back when she
was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Bat your eyes here, smile sweetly there, hoping to
get a ticket out of that crap hole they call an asylum. And it worked too,
she helped me escape. Sadly, however, the demented little creature followed
me. It's a cruel world. Beyond cruel. I TRY to drive that snivel-nosed
beacon of justice, Gordon, nuts by crippling and violating his baby girl
then tormenting him for like. a week or something (time's relative too. All
I know is I tortured him for a good long time). I kill the Bat's kid, then
remind him of it constantly. and they're still as sane as the day is long
(if a man who dresses up as a bat and a guy who works with him can be
called sane). And all I try to do is lead on one psychiatrist, and BOOM. I
drive her nuts.
Life isn't fair.
SO, I've wasted enough paper on that bane of my existence, Harley Quinn.
This diary is about getting in touch with my inner psychopath, so I'm going
to concentrate on that for now.
Pie would be really good right now. Cherry pie. No, pumpkin, with
gingerbread men on top. Real men on top is ok, but that's only good if you
like warm pumpkin pie because man-meat cooks funny and doesn't taste good
cold. I wonder if strawberry pie is in season?
All the other people I kill today. Well, after I got out of the "Special
Cases" wing, I snapped the necks of a bunch of miscellaneous people between
here and the front gate, and then I stole the car of some loser who worked
here, but now doesn't because she didn't report for work because she's
still in the trunk of said car. If she's still alive later, when go out for
peach pie and pickled okra, I'll bring her inside and torture her. It's too
cold to be out in this kind of weather, after all.
Oh yeah, and the fish.
The fish was great. Mid-day jail break, so I expect minimal interference
from the Bat-brigade. Which was kind of silly. The whole affair was pretty
high on the niftiness scale, actually. No Daddy Bat, but by the time I got
to the docks, I had Bat-Brats one and two waiting for me. The girl is nuts.
I am not really all that sane, but she's certifiable. You can see in her
eyes she's a killer.
Actually, you can't see her eyes. The weird full-face mask takes care of
that. But if you COULD see her eyes, you'd see that she's stone cold. At
least I'm creative and I have that going for me. She's some kind of
efficiency expert. I deduced that much with my wild and raging intellect
that one time when she broke me out of Arkham so she could fight me (see-
complete and total sociopath, I have no idea why the Bat keeps her on).
Moving on. and she's there, and Quipless Robin® is with her. And he's
scowling, doing his best impression of Daddykins, telling me how I'm going
back to Arkham, and there aren't going to be any more deaths, bla bla bla.
Batgirl tells him to stay put, and he scowls, and then her hand snaps out,
and just drops the kid, just like that. He's unconscious on top of the main
Meanwhile, I'm using this brilliant exchange of teenage camaraderie and big
sister protectiveness to make my way towards the fishing ship next to said
building. There was this whole scuffle thing where she landed on me and
pushed me to the ground then slammed her fist into my head, but that's not
The part that's REALLY important is where I grabbed hold of the nearest
crate and pulled myself out of her grasp, then tossed a net at her. It
didn't unfurl and cover her or anything. It just dumped right into her arms
and tangled around her, and I shot upward and just climbed right up those
crates, I did. When I was about twenty feet up, I found a crowbar. I LOVE
crowbars. Fuzzy memories of SmartAss Robin® Getting his comeuppance.
I knew I wasn't going to be able to wack Speedy Gonzolas Bat, so I did the
only sensible thing. I drove the end of that piece of metal between the
boards of the crate I was standing on and pried the front wall loose. A
million frozen fish, completely with ice came pouring out. The girl flipped
backward, and I tried to hide my glee. Not only was she further away from
me now, but I had a million frozen fish to play with.
Blah blah blah, got away by threatening the life of the still unconscious
Boy Blunder, a million frozen fish. I guess it was a lot of people, I mean,
its seven miles between the docks and Secret Lair #137.
I had some nice quiet time by myself to plot and scheme. It's kind of
expected that I'll do something magnificent and destructive in my time away
from The Can. I have a scheme involving ground beef and a dozen anti-
aircraft missles developing in my little noggin. Sadly this was inevitably
interrupted by Harley screaming out for her Puddin' to come and give her
some shugah (she REALLY needs to stop reading those X-Men comics). I
knocked her unconscious about an hour ago, so I finally had the "me" time
to write in my diary. Dr. Arkham says it's important. It's the key to self-
discovery, after all.
So, Diary. My reflections on today: there were some things I could have
improved upon. I could have actually killed a Bat-brat. I could have been
more creative and less blunt with the fish. I had some successes today too.
I think I put Harley in a coma. Hopefully she won't wake up.
Well, it's time for pie and okra.
All-in-all, I'd say it was a pretty good day.