Waylan Jones- Killer Croc - wasn't what you'd call complicated. He liked fresh meat, good fights, hard cash and loose women- not necessarily in that order. He didn't have much patience for the Iceberg crowd- they were mostly a sorry collection of wannabes, has-beens, and loonies. But a guy like him didn't have a helluva lot of choices when it came to watering holes, and at least at the 'Berg nobody screamed when he came in. He guessed that once you've served the Joker, a guy with scales and fangs wasn't too bad at all.

Still, it meant dealing with the loons which was a hassle. How was a man supposed to enjoy his drink when Mad Hatter kept trying to switch seats every time his glass was empty, or Firefly trying to bum a light every five seconds?

Halloween, now, Halloween was different. On Halloween he could go where he liked without problems, and do what he liked. Like a real person. It was his favorite night of the year, and he always tried to be out of Arkham for Halloween. As usual, he started his holiday at the Berg, looking at other peoples costumes. The big Come As You Should Be party was always good for some cheap fun. Riddler was dressed funny- a plaid cape amd some weird hat with a brim in front and back. Someone said it was supposed to be Sure Lock Homes (whoever that was), but nobody seemed to think it was a real good likeness. Oswald was dressed like one a them old timey noble-types. A count, or duke or something, Croc figured. He had a big white wig, and a suit with all kinds a weird ruffles and buttons on it. It was probably supposed to look real elegant, but Oswald was so short and fat that he just looked stupid.

For himself, Croc was wearing his usual wrestler's costume- a simple set of tights plus a big shiny championship- type belt. He'd always wanted to be a wrestler, but his condition had ended that dream along with all the others. Suddenly, Croc decided the 'Berg wasn't where he wanted to be tonight. He had tickets to the big wrestling match, and he needed to get ready.

He went to the butcher near his newest hideout to get snacks. For the last few years, Croc had been craving raw meat all the time, and his appetite had doubled. So it was that he walked out of the butcher shop carrying five pounds of raw hamburger in a paper bag. This would have been enough to feed a family for a week, but it''d barely get him through the evening. Sometimes he worried what would happen when butchers could no longer satisfy his need for fresh, bloody meat. He figured he'd do whatever he had to do, same as he'd always done. And if somebody else had to get hurt, well too bad for them.

He made his way down the street, and was happy to see that the crowd around him ignored him. No one recognized the infamous Killer Croc- all the normal people figured he was wearing a costume. Of course, that alos meant no one was scared enough to get out of his way, but recognized or not Croc was a big man and simply pushed his way through the mass of people. As he went, he saw the Joker and Harley pass by- dressed in costumes. He gave the Joker a respectful nod- the clown was hands down the scariest guy Croc had ever come across, and he didn't want to be on his bad side. He drank in the view of Harley in her little pink dress- which gave a VERY nice view to passersby. The clowns continued on their way to wherever, and the big man exhaled deeply in relief.

Finally, he arrived at Memorial Stadium, where a huge banner on the front announced tonights World Heavyweight Wrestling Federation Halloween Slamboree 2008. Croc had bought his ticket the day before (thank god for Ticketmaster) and moved past the massive line at the counter. Again, his sheer size insured that no one got in his way as he headed for his seat. He'd only been able to afford a mediocre ticket, meaning his seat was about halfway up, but at least it was on the aisle and he could stretch his legs. Not that he expected to be seated for most of the evening. He tended to get excited during a good match. He settled in and watched the show unfold.

It started off with the low-bill wrestlers, guys in costumes so stupid they made him laugh. And considering who Croc rubbed elbows with on a daily basis, that was really sayimg something. Each one made a speech about how tough they were and how mean they were and what a pansy the other guy was. Corny as all hell, but Croc just tuned 'em out. The actual matches were worth the price of admission, though.

Croc knew he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed- he'd never really needed to be. Nevertheless, he was smart enough to know that pro wrestling was faked. That the 'fights' he saw in the ring were about as real as…well, as real as crocodile tears. But that only made the show even better. Once you figured out the whole thing was rigged, the fights actually got more entertaining. Croc had heard one time about the ballet -probably from Penguin, who liked all that fruity stuff. Penguin had kept going on and on about how graceful the dancers were, how wonderfully they moved, and how every part of their body was under such great control.

In a way, that was what Croc liked about pro wrestling. He knew from experience what the guys in the ring went through; the nonstop training, the practice, the rehearsals. Ballet dancers might work harder but if they screwed up then they just got fired. If one of the guys down in the ring screwed up, they'd be in a world of pain- maybe dead. A bodyslam might break real bones, a piledriver could snap your neck, and the less said about elbow drop mishaps the better. Every incident free match was like a dance; a piece of art. It was probably the closest thing to fine art Croc had ever experienced. And for a little while, in the midst of the roar of the crowd and the thump of bodies hitting the mat- Killer Croc felt human.

A/N
I know I know- not very good. But really, there isn't much you can do with old Crockers. He's not as cool as the Joker, nor as deep as TwoFace. He's just a really strong, really ugly guy. Frankly, I'm amazed DC hasn't turned him into a set of luggage yet.

That's the last one, kiddies!