They've struck a nerve. The Joker clearly doesn't like all the insults to his comedy. (Namely because they're actually somewhat witty. How dare they try to show him up with actual wit?!)
"No one gives me the hook!" he says tossing the Batman costume over his shoulder like it's nothing.
But the brief flash of a scowl fades to extreme disappointment.
"But why am I even surprised? Of course you don't get the joke. No one ever does! He never did -- but Batsy came so close, during all those times I pushed him right up to the brink!"
He sweeps his hands out at the mayhem.
"Just like they've been pushed to the brink." He waves a hand dismissively. "Still, the terrified screams of the masses aren't quite the same as being locked in a death spiral of dysfunction and despair with a fellow lunatic-in-arms -- but that's fine!"
The way his eyes flash with purpose looks eerie with the strange photo-negative aura around him. "I'll just have to make a new one."
The way he moves is even eerier. There's no premeditation. He doesn't telegraph his moves. One second he's talking to them, the next he's suddenly reaching into his jacket while running towards them, his movements erratic. He pulls out a massive, comically large mallet, which takes on the same strange photo-negative effect by virtue of him touching it.
While Barry has the speed to run circles around him, that'd be a lot more helpful if his movements were actually predictable. It's not as if he can tell where Barry's going to be, but the chaotic way he moves mean that some of his movements just accidentally have him swinging his mallet places where people are going. It's like some strange inverse of predicting where they'll be and planning to be there; instead he's planning absolutely nothing and by virtue of moving erratically, he's somehow everywhere.
"You can't stop it. Either it'll be because of me or the man upstairs, but one way or another, one of you Legionnaires will change from a stiff in spandex to another kook in a playsuit! Mad as a hatter! Three sheets to the wind! One card short of a full deck!"
Where did those razor-tipped playing cards come from? Wherever it is, they're suddenly being flung at them with one hand as he swings the mallet with the other. He laughs and laughs.
"Eventually, I'll have a new partner to cut a rug with! Until the punchline drops, and the sky falls, and then we'll share a good guffaw together at the end of the world!"
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"No one gives me the hook!" he says tossing the Batman costume over his shoulder like it's nothing.
But the brief flash of a scowl fades to extreme disappointment.
"But why am I even surprised? Of course you don't get the joke. No one ever does! He never did -- but Batsy came so close, during all those times I pushed him right up to the brink!"
He sweeps his hands out at the mayhem.
"Just like they've been pushed to the brink." He waves a hand dismissively. "Still, the terrified screams of the masses aren't quite the same as being locked in a death spiral of dysfunction and despair with a fellow lunatic-in-arms -- but that's fine!"
The way his eyes flash with purpose looks eerie with the strange photo-negative aura around him. "I'll just have to make a new one."
The way he moves is even eerier. There's no premeditation. He doesn't telegraph his moves. One second he's talking to them, the next he's suddenly reaching into his jacket while running towards them, his movements erratic. He pulls out a massive, comically large mallet, which takes on the same strange photo-negative effect by virtue of him touching it.
While Barry has the speed to run circles around him, that'd be a lot more helpful if his movements were actually predictable. It's not as if he can tell where Barry's going to be, but the chaotic way he moves mean that some of his movements just accidentally have him swinging his mallet places where people are going. It's like some strange inverse of predicting where they'll be and planning to be there; instead he's planning absolutely nothing and by virtue of moving erratically, he's somehow everywhere.
"You can't stop it. Either it'll be because of me or the man upstairs, but one way or another, one of you Legionnaires will change from a stiff in spandex to another kook in a playsuit! Mad as a hatter! Three sheets to the wind! One card short of a full deck!"
Where did those razor-tipped playing cards come from? Wherever it is, they're suddenly being flung at them with one hand as he swings the mallet with the other. He laughs and laughs.
"Eventually, I'll have a new partner to cut a rug with! Until the punchline drops, and the sky falls, and then we'll share a good guffaw together at the end of the world!"