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.

Rating: R

Summary: A Journal Entry from the personal logs of a certain mad clown.

Pie: A Journal in One Part By The Clown Prince of Crime


Dear Diary,

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 rot.

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. pie.

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 shipping building.

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 important.

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.


The end.