Correspondence sent to Arkham Asylum inmate 0801 AKA The Joker for February 14. Believed to be from Harleen Quinzel AKA Harley Quinn, accomplice/paramour to The Joker and former Arkham employee. Passed onto Director Sinner for analysis.
Dearest Darlingest Mr. J!
Sorry you’re back in Arkham, puddin’. Batman is such a meanie – no sense of humor. We was just trying to bring a li’l joy to the people of Gotham. So what if Joy was the name of our giant gorilla cyborg that ended up hanging off to the top of Ellsworth Building – it’s not like anyone died. Well, it’s not like a lot of people died. “Casualties were minimum”, that’s what the lady on the news said. *sigh*
(Director’s Note: Harley’s dialectical style of writing is particularly unusual, making use of certain devices only found in spoken language, suggesting a specific choice on her part to write this way. This is presumably connected with the persona she has assumed, far from that of her professional self. May be worth further linguistic analysis.)
Anyway, it’s Valentine’s Day now, and I miss my puddin’! The sun is shining, love is in the air, no one’s screaming – I hate it! That crazy guy in the red costume claimed he was Cupid and started shooting people with arrows in Gotham Park, but it’s not the same without you. I wish you were here. I got us candles and flowers. I kidnapped a Mariachi band. They’ve been playing for 16 hours. I don’t even like Mariachi music but since
(Director’s Note: The letter breaks off here for several lines, suggesting that it’s composition was interrupted. Whether this was done for comical and/or rhetorical effect remains unclear at this point.)
I just shot the guy with the trumpet. I was gonna send ’em home, but I guess now it’s a MUTE point!
(Director’s Note: And there’s the punchline.)
Anyway, I’ve got a plan to get you out.
(Director’s Note: I don’t mean to patronize a fellow psychiatrist, but geez. Harleen’s intellect seems to have taken a beating since she fell for that grease-painted lunatic. Talking about your plan to break someone out in
I’m guessing whatever you just wrote wasn’t very nice, Mrs. Director-person. You see, while you’ve been distracted reading this, I’ve broken in and taken out the guards with knockout gas. Mr. J should already be out of his cell. I’ve got a romantic dinner for three prepared and you’re the entertainment. Not so funny now, am I? You should see what I’ve got lined up for this evening – it’s got alligators and quick-drying cement. You’ll plotz!
By the way, whatever you do, don’t turn around…
Lots of love,