My Boyfriend Is a Psychopathic Clown: Harley Quinn's Story

Pidgeon, or I Do My Man Wrong

She started writing her initials - RQ - on her corpses in Sharpie. I hated how cocky she was getting, stringing the cops along (they had a whole team for her murders now). It would take them forever to catch her, and I couldn't stand the fame. Mr. J was even getting peeved.

"Dames!" he huffed, knocking back a glass of whiskey as we watched the latest news brief.

"I'd like to give her a special taste of Joker Venom!"

"Me, too, boss," I said agreeably, knowing this would start a whole new game of Queenie Hartz murder plans that we'd never carry out because it was messy, and besides, against Puddin's code.

"There's two types of people in the world, Harls," he declared to me one night when he was being unusually nice and affectionate, slinging an arm around my shoulder and pulling us together, making my heart thump happily.

"There's us - the 'bad guys' and then the goody-goodies...like Batman." He started ranting and raving after that, but eventually circled back to his main point.

"And see, kid - we've got to stick up for each other. Have it or stab it, 's what I always say. So if you ever hear about anything big going down - don't be a squealer, ok?"

I'd always stuck close to his rule (even though I'd noticed Mr. J didn't really have any alliances, but he was kind of a lone wolf, aside his needing his woman), but I knew I was going to break it for Queenie Hartz. I'd lead the cops right to her, I decided...but first I needed something new to wear. The harlequin suit just wouldn't cut it for a visit to the station.

"I need to chat with Gordon - pronto!" I'd decided on a white tunic made of eylet, black capris cuffed at the knees and studded black leather wedge sandals that clasped around my ankles. It made me look very classy and businesslike, but I knew Mr. J would approve of the shoes.

"Harleen?"

"The Alice Murders - I know where to find her."

"Her?"

"Yes. Swear on Mr. J that I'm not lying."

So we went into a conference room, and I told him everything I knew. It was oddly gratifying, being a police informant.

A couple of nights later, Puddin' and I were dressed in our pajamas (striped two-piece button-down shirt and pants for him, a slinky red nightie for me) and were watching the evening news when they hauled her off to trial, and then comitted her to Arkham Asylum. The Cheshire-Cat smile slid onto my face, and when Mr. J asked what was making me so happy, I smiled even harder and said, flinging my arms around his neck with a kiss

"You."

(He just rolled his eyes and booted me off the couch.)

I couldn't resist bragging to Pammie the next day on the phone.

"So I just trotted down to the station and asked to talk to Gordon...and I turned her in, Red! It was that simple!"

"WHAT?????" Puddin' roared, grabbing the phone from my hand and stomping it to black plastic dust on the floor.

"You just made me destroy a perfectly good phone! And tell me you did not turn Red Queen in to the cops. Stupid, skinny little squealer!"

"But, Puddin'...."

"DON'T CALL ME PUDDIN'!" he hollered, his eyebrows drawing together sharply as he glared down at me, face red as a ripe summer tomato.

"I'm done with your childishness. Get out! Out, Harley!"

He didn't even give me time to scrape my things together...but at least it gave me the opportunity for a shopping spree in which I could get all new clothes to wow Puddin' when he asked for me back!

Poor Harley - her deluded little mind, thinking she'll actually come back. Piffle! I'm finished with that babyish little puppy and her bubbleheaded, tagalong ways...though, having a partner makes things much easier sometimes - well, you'll just have to read SBR's next decent interpreting of our escapades...though, since it's from Harley's point of view and not mine, I don't know how interesting it will actually be.

Ta, ta!

  - The Joker

(LABF, daaaaaarling, sorry for ripping off your idea from Other Side. I just couldn't resist. Kisses from Batman!)