[Holding a Batman Gingerbread Cookie] "Hello Mister J. I'm Batman. Eat me! Eat me! Eat me!"
"Aw, c'mon, Puddin'--don'tcha wanna rev up your Harley? Vroom! Vroom!"
"I'm crazy about... Hey, I'm just crazy." (Harley Quinn) No, really, I'm certifiable. And perhaps because of that no matter how much I want to be a Femme Fatale, down deep, I'm a Harley Quinn. Big eyes. Lots of Devotion. Severely Protective. And totally Insane. Really, I've asked my best friend, Maggie, about this, her response: "You just let it all hang out. No one could call YOU subtle. I think its because you don't come and go in your affection. You're pretty stable in that respect." True enough, I guess. Listen, Kids, being a Harley Quinn is tough. In many respects, we're delicate creatures capable of getting squashed like a bug. Of course, in other respects, we are Sadistic Little Bitches who reign punishment on anyone who dares mess with our Puddin'! No, I don't have any idea where I'm going with this. In fact, I'm not sure there is an actual point to this post. Come to think of it, given the information I've just supplied you with your expecting some sort of moral to my story seems unreasonable on your part. Why are you asking so much of me? I'm just talkin' here. Seriously, People, never expect a Harley Quinn to make much sense. So for now: "It is to laugh, huh, Mister J?"