Author's note: Hello there my dear friends. This little story came from a combination of things. Old convos with friends and enemies, dreams and nightmares, and that little voice in my head that once again said..."why don't you try something new?" It is not supposed to follow any continuity but it uses the story SPARK OF GENIUS as a starting point of reference. This one, different from SPARK, it's a little bit darker and is another ONE SHOT. There is some inherent violence, but then, what is Joker without his violence. Again I write in first person, because I want you to get a better feeling of what goes into the Joker's mind and with Joker what he does not always agrees with what he thinks. I have introduced Harley here as a tool to help illustrate what makes the Jester tick, and there are some indications of abuse. Sorry for those that love to idealize Harley, but living with Joker can't be all that nice when he likes to kill people and spread chaos. And just to clarify...I don't hate Harley. I actually like her a lot, just don't like what many authors (including at DC) are doing to her. Harley could be so much more...is sad to see her limited to comical roles to lighten up a story. I'm not doing her a favor here, but this is not a story about her. This is a very personal look into how the mind of a sociopath might work so please don't hate me for trying to be original. I'm trying to get my own little niche in the Joker's world where I am a speck of sand in a shore of authors who write the Clown. I am not an authority on anything, just another author who aims to entertain an audience. I hope you guys like it. Remember, reviews are more than welcome, but if you are going to flame, please use other forum. Those don't help any of us. I don't have a regular beta for this story so don't hesitate to tell me where I have erred so I can fix it. THANKS

READ PART 1: SPARK OF GENIUS

DISCLAIMER 1: JOKER or any related character belongs solely to DC COMICS

DISCLAIMER 2: There is some indication of VIOLENCE and ABUSE. Again, if you don't like any of those, stop reading.

My Muse Has a Twisted Sense of Humor

Oh man…

I had the weirdest dream last night and it was… wait a minute! You here? How did you find me? Who let you in? Why does Angelina Jolie still hangs with Brady Boy instead of me? I'm a lot damn sexier, you know? Where does water enter the coconut? Do you have any gum…? I really need some gum.

(Takes a deep breath)

Boy, you must really be totally out of your mind or really obsessed to follow me all the way from the Asylum. Hmmm. I don't hear any sirens so I assume that you are on my side which means you get to live a little longer to entertain me. Lucky you. But that doesn't change the fact that you are crazy. After all not many people want to come after me for just my looks. They I'm a little bit crazy myself and people say that my looks could kill... Come on, laugh…it was a joke.

Tough crowd I see….

Anyways, now that you are here would you like to hear about my dream? I know that's the reason you followed me here. I thought so, because you are a double psycho and deserve to be locked up in a padded cell. You know…mine is for rent. I hardly use it. Interested? Hmm. OK. Maybe another day. Well, here it goes:

I was the owner of this large southern plantation with hundreds of acres, and I was overseeing two of my favorite crops: cotton candy and lollipops and before you say anything…I'm not crazy. I know cotton candy doesn't grow on trees but this is my dream so you just go on with it, OK?

Well, in my plantation I had like a gazillion of slaves that loved me and respected me. No…let's face it. They feared me. Because they know what I can do, and what I do as you well know, leaves corpses behind by the dozen in a good day. I don't know how I got those slaves or if I could get anymore, but I had a strong and healthy group of slave bats working for me. Yes, bats. They were not too big, nor too small, but they smelled and at this time of the day, they were also blind. Yeah, painfully blind.

I had them working during the day because I know how much daylight hurts their little eyes and I just wanted to see them hurting. It's fun. They keep their heads down to avoid the sun and it really looks like they are all worshiping me and they should. I know what you're asking. Why don't they fly away to a cave or something, but you see. They can't fly. In my plantation bats have no wings. I rip them off of their arms and fingers the day they arrive to work for me. I remember that I had done a few earlier that day in my dream; ripping those wings like sheets from a notebook while they screamed in pain and it's that there is nothing more beautiful than a bat in pain. Now you know why I do what I do…and why I love it.

Well, here I am, with my terrorized wingless bats picking cotton candy and pulling lollipops from the ground and yes…I grow lollipops like potatoes so what? It's my dream and if you interrupt me one more time, I will kill you.

(Clears throat).

This is when the dream turns into a nightmare. I suddenly started hearing this buzzing sound from far, far away. I looked towards the horizon and see this flock…no, more like a swarm of birds. Thousands of them covering the horizon and quickly approaching my crops. I remember clearly their black wings, red chests and yellow legs carrying what looked like canisters of some type. I immediately knew what they wanted; after all I know these birds: Robins. Yeah, tiny pesky little pests that tried to make me lose my cool with their irritating chirping and acrobatics. Anyways, these Robins wanted to destroy my crops so I wouldn't have any lollipops for whatever it is that I needed that many lollipops. I immediately turned to one of my faithful security officers.

"Kill them! Kill them all, Harold! Don't let them get to my crops." By the time I scream this, I'm hysterical and you can understand why. Growing crops like this is not easy and these little pests were decided on destroying my dream. It is so difficult to get good lollipops these days…I screamed to Harold again "Kill the Robins now!"

Well, as it happens, my men start firing at the Robins, but shooting them one by one when there are millions of them was not too efficient, so they kept coming. When they arrived to the crops they released the canisters they were carrying with their legs and the things just explode upon hitting the ground producing a cloud of yellow smoke that started to make my crops wilt. I was irate that I pulled the heavy artillery and started shooting my ground to air missiles in the hope to stop the attack. No good. Time to get out the nukes…

As all this is happening, my crops were almost completely gone thanks to the toxic gas and here is where it gets creepy. My bat slaves dissolved and become part of the cloud of smoke that now engulfed most of my crops. "No fair, no fair! I need to speak to the Department of Agriculture about this…and the Department of Forced Labor." I'm screaming while I'm setting the coordinates for my nuclear missile to strike. I was ready to nuke those Robins when from the ground and the mist rose this huge, black menacing mass of goo that smelled like musk rat. The gigantic rat, that by now looked like an oversize bat loomed over me and I felt it breathing angrily upon me. He could've use a mint or two, but I didn't even have any I could offer at the moment so had to tolerate the stench best way I could. And before I forget…this bat could speak…

"Game's over, Joker." The thing said in a voice that rumbled like thunder and then I woke up all jumpy and jittery. I didn't have now any cotton candy or lollipops to sell in the market thanks to the Bat and his pet bird and that really pissed me off. I really hate dreams like that where my life is threatened by the presence of a stinky bat. Looks too much like real life, you know? Can't understand why I can't have a regular dream like everybody else with corpses, and blood and the joyful laughter before death…I don't know what's wrong with me.

Did you like my dream? Oh, shut up, I really don't care. What I really would like now is to just squeeze your little….

"Hey Pumpkin…I'm home!" Someone said in a loud, piercing, out of key voice that makes me cringe. I looked at the door of my little office (yes, even criminal masterminds have an office) and I see Harley accompanied by one of my henchmen. Doesn't she realize how loud and annoying she is? I'm really considering debarking this puppy soon. She smiles at me. "Did you miss me?"

"Not really." I responded signaling my men to leave my office at the same time I'm massaging my ears. More of that squealing and I'm gonna go deaf. I could still hear the ringing in my sensitive eardrums. She giggled childishly and flounced happily towards me with this large happy face, bouncy pigtails and absolutely blank stare in those blue eyes of her. She sat over my desk and pushed me with a hand in what she thought was some kind of greeting.

"Oh, you're such a kidder, Mistah J." She said laughing, but sounding more like she had the hiccups. Why was she laughing? I didn't recall having made a joke…"So tell me, what 'cha doing?"

I just glared at her. Can she even speak like a normal human being? I swear if I hear her talk like a little girl again I'm gonna shoot someone and don't laugh because shooting YOU is high on my list. Oh, why am I complaining? It's my fault. It was me who ordered the boys to get her out of the Asylum, and don't ask me why, because I have no fucking clue. I don't know what the hell I was thinking.

She asked the same question again as if I had not heard her the first time and I just wanted to squeeze the life out of her.

"I'm busy, Harl." I responded as politely as I could, trying to keep my cool, because if I lose my temper, there goes my creativity along with it. So I just looked back at my desk where I have this blank piece of paper lying in front of me where I'm supposed to be writing down my flawless plan to make this city laugh to death for my birthday. Maybe if I can concentrate hard enough I can get something from all this painful distraction…

"But, Pooh. Don't you wanna hear what happened at the Asylum? I made a funny on Dr. Arkham before I left…"

"I said I'm busy. And I know what happened at the Asylum. A water balloon above good ol' doctor Arkham's door is not funny. It's lame."

"But it had skunk scent. You know how hard it was to get that?" She protested.

"Why not acid, or poison gas or just plain city water? That's nasty enough. It's not funny and if you don't mind I have work to do." I responded going back to stare at my paper which is still blank.

"I did it for you…" She responded sadly twirling one of her pigtails and looking down at her feet.

"You really wanna do something for me?" I asked without lifting my head, but I felt her getting all fidgety and interested beside me. I could also feel her eyes on the back of my head. Annoying. "I'm thirsty. Go get me some juice."

"Sure," she said jumping off from my desk and walking towards the little fridge I keep in the corner. She opened it and inspected the contents of the cooler which I know is only bottles of spring water. I've never trusted city water. Maybe it is just me but I'm always afraid some deranged psycho might want to poison the water supply or something so I keep my private supply. "Hmmm, where do you keep the juice, sweetie? I don't see any Tropicana here."

"You'll have to make it from scratch then. Go to the kitchen and see what you can find. I think there are some oranges left and a hand juicer there." I responded trying to remember why I had bought those oranges for. I knew I had thought of a plan to poison oranges at one time but can't remember if I actually had used the darn fruit. Maybe I didn't want juice that bad. Well, whatever the cost of keeping her busy for a while. Now back to my plans…

"Oh, but Pooh, that is gonna take forever. Can't I just…" She started to protest when I finally lost it and I took the letter opener from my desk and threw it at her with all my might. I should plan my throws better because I missed her, embedding the letter opener on the wall like a foot from where she was standing. I thought she would be too thick to get it, but when she looked at me huffing angrily she instantly got the message and rushed out of my office. "Sure, Mistah J, right away, sir!"

And with her gone to the kitchen there is only…SILENCE. Delicious environment for creativity. It is hard enough to have this busy brain of mine with tons of voices inside my head telling me brilliant ideas, to also have to deal with the noise pollution of the world. And Harley could really pollute the airwaves. Maybe I should report her to the EPA…I laughed and sat back on my chair and stared at my blank piece of paper trying to concentrate on something to do with this city. I have to start touring soon, while they are still thinking of me, or the ratings will not be as good. It's hard to make a memorable crime when you are not on the headlines already and people are just not expecting one of my jokes. The tension is just not there. Being on the headlines of every newspaper makes the shock of my performance even more…shocking.

I know what you're thinking and may I remind you that you are not here to think. That is my department. You are here to die…later. But anyways, to satisfy your curiosity…I don't know why I keep her around. It is one of those things that I can't really explain, but then I can't explain either why the police thinks I'm a menace to society and lets an overgrown bat keep young cute little Robins in a dark cave in the center of the earth. And what with the colorful outfits? That spells kinky to me, but the police are biased. After all, what is more dangerous…a comedian with a morbid sense of humor or a pedophile…? What you think?

Harley is…I don't know. She's one of those things like damn if I have her and damn if I don't. She is like tobacco. I know it doesn't do me any good, but I can enjoy a good smoke every once in a while and know that I will have my fix. No, I'm not taking about sex, you pervert. I'm talking about nicotine that can kill you. You can smoke the tobacco, you can chew it, and you can even smell it and you get this high that is hard to explain. She gives me that same high every time she cowers, screams, begs for mercy or rolls on the floor like an injured pup. Yeah, now you get the picture. I'm not deranged. I'm a man with needs and my main need is to have fun at other people's expense and with her is easy because the bottom line is she likes it. Don't you do the same thing with people around you? Then there is something wrong with you, because everybody likes having fun and having fun with her, well…is probably as orgasmic as having fun with the Bat, his boys and this city. And for the second time in a row…I'm not taking about sex.

You see…it's all about the show. It's all about getting hold of the audience and to make them scream of joy as they die. It's because when you scream, I scream of pure joy and excitement and then it's time for me to introduce the punch line. The grand finale. That is the moment where the curtain falls on the audience like a shower of bright red blood after a kosher slaughter. That is what I'm talking about when I say fun, deadly fun. Did you ever notice that the only difference between LAUGHTER and SLAUGHTER is only ONE LETTER? Check your grammar. That is so for a reason and apparently I'm the only man in the world that seems to know the reason, because nobody else gets the joke.

Well, enough of her. I need to get to my little piece of paper. My birthday is coming soon and I have a city to entertain. Damn…it is so hard to come up with new material. When I was talking with myself everything seemed so easy. Where am I when I need me? I could get a hold of some school buses and maybe school children. Gordon really hates it when I include children in my performances and that would guarantee that the Bat will come for the premiere. After all he has this thing for children. Yeah that sounded good, and then I can…

All of a sudden, my attention gets distracted by a humming noise. It was loud, annoying and persistent. It sounded like someone had turned on the garbage disposal in the kitchen, but I knew that I didn't have a garbage disposal here. I was immediately reminded of my dream and could almost hear the ten million wings of the red Robins flapping towards me to ruin my dream. But wait…I'm not dreaming anymore, am I? Then this noise must come from somewhere else.

The humming had now a cadence, almost musical aspect to it. I could hear now the ups and downs of the notes. I started to think that someone must've brought a radio to my hideout. Could they at least select a better station, you know? Humming is not my definition of good music. It's just noise. I was really considering going out and shooting the damn thing, but my men need their distractions too. Maybe I can just zone out and forget about it. I try hard, but it's no good. The humming just became a few octaves louder and hard to ignore. Inconsiderate thugs…I'm going to kill them all. I wondered if they will find it funny when I try to make a musical instrument out of their windpipes…

I can do this. I tried it one more time, looked at the paper in front of me and started writing. Murder…

I couldn't stand it anymore. I got up my chair and rushed to the door with the only idea of shoving the damn radio down someone's throat and cause some mayhem. The humming stopped and I stopped in the middle of the room. All is quiet again. I looked around me to make sure this was real. I have my moments where I get a little… whatchamacallit….confused on the subject. Maybe I imagined it after all so I decided to start walking back to my desk when then someone started singing…or was it screaming? Personally I couldn't tell the difference. But I was going to put that puppy out of his misery. I pull out my .38 special and head for the door. By the time I reached the door it opened up and here was Harley carrying a glass of orange juice in a tray and singing. She jumped when she saw me with the gun and the darned glass fell off her tray and splashed on my clothes and my shoes. Harley supported herself from the door frame catching her breath.

"Oh, Puddin', you scared me." She said with a faint smile as I just glared at her while the smell of freshly squeezed orange juice filled my nose. Great. Now I smelled like a damned orange grove and the stain was going to be hard to remove. I just stared at her silently and I could see the smile on her face disappear to be quickly replaced with terror. She knew that this 'accident' didn't make me happy.

"OOPS!" she said turning around to leave when I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into my office

I closed and locked the door behind me and started to advance menacingly towards her. Someone was going to pay for my dry cleaning and it was going to be with more than just cash… She rose from the floor to look at me with wide blue eyes that were starting to fill with tears. "I'm sorry Mistah J., really. It was an accident." She said apologetically as she started to back off from me.

"You realize how hard is it going to be sending this to the dry cleaners?" I snarled, then I went on mimicking her squeaky voice the best I could. "Hmm, 'cuse me ma'm. Can I have this purple tuxedo dry cleaned by tomorrow. My Puddin' really needs it for his great premiere. Nooooo….it is not the Joker's tux, ma'm… you're all confused. You can call the Fartman and he will tell you."

"I…I'm really s-sorry, Pooh." She answered back between small sobs. She was really trying to not cry in front of me. Playing brave with me, Harl? I can change that right now. She continued backing off until she hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. She was mine. "If you want….if you want I can c-clean it for you. It's j-just orange juice."

"And how the hell you plan on doing that. Go to the coin Laundromat with a purple tux….sure, that doesn't look suspicious." I continued to say in a nasty angry tone, while my anger started to turn slowly into amusement. Seeing the terror in her eyes was started to give me a high. How the hell could I keep a grudge when she was making me happy? See…this is why I need this girl. "This is velvet, darling. You can't just put it on the delicate cycle."

"No…I c-can wash it by h-hand." Her voice was breaking. Music to my ears.

"Oh…that's right." I finally say with a hint of a smile, but not my happy smile. "What about my shoes? These are expensive shoes."

"I can clean those easily for you, Mistah J." She quipped pulling a kitchen towel from behind her. I took the towel from her hands and tossed it angrily behind me. She pressed herself against the wall and swallowed hard.

"Yes, you will clean them, now." I growled.

"But you took the towel…" She protested. My smile widened. Could she really be that much an idiot?

"You will not need the towel. I'm waiting, clean them." I said waving my .38 menacingly in front of her. She started to sob again.

"I'm really s-sorry, P-puddin'. Please don't shoot me. Just give me your shoes and I…"

"SORRY!" I yelled. She looked away from me in fear. This made my heart race and my breathing got faster. This was better than group sex. "Do you really know the meaning of the word, Harl? These are expensive clothes and expensive shoes. The best of my wardrobe and you…" I stopped immediately when I noticed the letter opener embedded on the wall very close to her. I decided to change tactics for some added fun and I put my gun away. Extending a hand I pull the letter opener from the wall and brush the tip against her face. She cringes and tries to pull away but there is not much space to move as I close on her. "And I'm not going to shoot you. It is so…impersonal. You and I share a bond, don't you think? We are family…"

She looks at me, with clear confusion on those blue eyes. Was I playing or did I mean every word I said? She wasn't sure and I was not going to clarify the issue because this was too much fun. I ran the tip of the letter opener down her neck and between her breasts and down her abdomen. I could feel her tensing under the metal blade. Then I finally pointed the letter opener at my shoes.

"You take care of me, because you love me, don't you?" I purred just inches from her face. She nodded nervously while beads of sweat came running down her forehead. "Then prove it. Don't leave me smelling like a goddamn orange. Start with my shoes."

Harley looked at me and then down to my shoes. I could almost see the gears going in her head wondering what she had to do. It was not that hard. I was telling her exactly what she had to do.

"H-how?"

"Improvise." I said stepping back a little to give her some room. I kept the letter opener dancing between my fingers. "I'm not repeating myself, Harley…"

She looked into my eyes in the hope of finding some mercy for her crime which I'm making her pay with her dignity. No, Harley. No mercy here. Never had it and never needed it. She silently went down on her knees and leaned over my shoes. I couldn't believe how easy this was. I didn't want the fun to stop. She opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out and then I took a long stride back getting away from range. Harley, oh my poor Harley. She looked up at me all confused and I smiled. Her eyes were red and swollen and two streams of tears had reached her chin. I smiled wider.

"Mistah J?" She started.

"I'm still waiting, Harl." I warned dangerously.

She crawled on the floor on all fours to meet my shoes again. Her head hanging low as she walked like a

scolded puppy to meet its master. That's the way Harley. You're making this Clown really happy. Come to papa… She tried to lick my shoes again when I straddled back once more. I could see the frustration in her face. She really wanted to get this over with. The show is only over when the fat lady sings…and I just slit her throat. I started to giggle uncontrollably but it is that this is just so…precious. Then I remembered. My plans for the city.

I turned around and headed towards my desk, grabbing on my way there the kitchen towel I had taken from Harley. Putting the letter opener back on its place, and picking the pen from where I had left it I rushed behind the desk to sit at my chair and hunch over my paper as I quickly used the towel to clean my shoes. For the first time I knew what I had to do. Not murder…that was supposed to be the final punch line. I had to play with this city. Humiliate it, humble it so they learn the waste it is to think so high of themselves. Nobody is higher as me. I'm the master magician, the valedictorian in the Clown Class. I will make this city fall on its knees and then it is when the fun really begins. I start to laugh as I jolt note after note, like a possessed beast when idea after idea pops into my head and end up at the end of my pen.

"P-puddin..?" I heard Harley say shyly still on all fours from the floor. I looked up for a moment, busted in laughter again, tossed her the dirty towel and went back to my brainstorm.

"What, babe?" I responded between giggles.

"Are you still angry at me?"

"Angry…I wouldn't say that. I was never angry, just…bored. And you gave me the joy of my life. In exchange, I decided to give you a break since you have inspired my muse. Once more, you've given your old Clown a reason to laugh…and make this city laugh with me, my little pet." I spun the pen above my head. "Now, weren't you going to get me something?"

"Want some more juice?" Harley inquired rising from the floor with a happy bounce.

"Yeah, why not? Get me some apple juice."

"I didn't see any apples in the kitc—. "She started to say when I stopped writing and stared at her. Did she really have such a short memory span? She started to walk backwards to the door. "No prob, Puddin'. I'll go and get you some, OK. Don't you worry."

"Good…can you take the audience with you?"

Harley stopped by the door to look at me. Her face was that of someone who had no idea what I was talking about. "What did you just say, Mistah J?"

I looked at her and motioned with the pen to the roof. What? Didn't she see you all staring at her? Don't tell me I'm the only one stuck with an audience… "Forget it Harl. This people are too obsessed with me to follow anyone else. But they will be watching you close, after all that was quite a performance you gave them. Now go." She doesn't say anything as she leaves my office. I don't think she can see them at all. Poor little Harley, in her own little world revolving around me. I bust into a laughing fit. I'm happy. I finally have a plan.

And you people…don't think I'm gonna share this one with you either. You will have to buy tickets to see what happens next. Until then, take a stroll around the place or something. I know… go fetch me some more white paper because this might not be enough. Go, go, go…

READ PART 3: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!