No Joke: The Harley Quinn Interview
The lovely and homicidal Harley Quinn recently sat down for an interview with RP newspaper-may we say that we're glad our employee came back in one piece!
Q: Hello, Ms… Harley Quinn, was it? I understand the staff featured you in our paper once before. What was that about?
A: I-I…uh. That’s an awfully straightforward question, isn’t it?
Q:
A:
Q:
A: *sigh* I thought he was dead…he wasn’t. Mister J…came back for me. And he was just a little too happy to see me. It’s—can we, uh, not talk about that one?
Q: Well, alright, then. What do you do for a living?
A: Oh, y ou know…this and that. Odd jobs, mostly, since Mister J di—went—left me. Since we got separated. You know, nothing fancy. No shootings or anything like that. Couple of small heists here and there to pay the bills.
Q: "I see. And whatever happened to your old job? You know, the one you worked so hard for? That came with all that respect and prestige?
A: You mean Arkham? Ha! I thought the whole world knew by now. I met the most amazing man this rat-hole of a city has ever produced. He was a genius, and an artist. He got how the world really worked…he helped me the see the true colors an’ ways ‘a’ the world. What a joke it all is…and how to beat them to the punchline! And…I fell in love.
Ha. “Love”. It doesn’t feel like the right word for what we had. I…everything I was—am!—I owe to him. He broke me down and made me anew, gave me a purpose in life more worthy than anything I could have done working as a doctar. What a useless profession! No one in Arkham needs a shrink, except maybe that Creeper fella.
Q: No one in Arkham needs a shrink? I know several credible news sources who'd disagree.
A: You know what the problem with that kind of thinking is? You have to assume we’re the nutty ones, us crooks over in Arkham.
But what if we’re the sanest people in the city, locked up for telling it like it is? We don’t tolerate a stinking Bat running our street; we squash it! We don’t need to wait to be “saved” or “helped” by a freaking rodent. We don’t stand by and cheer him on while he brutally beats us senseless. And we’re the crazy ones? *laughs* Maybe it’s time to redefine sanity! We don’t hide out in some dark, wet cave; we don’t need a spotlight to summon us up; we don’t pretend that we’re doing the right thing when we tow the line. We don’t need that lie—but he does. An’ everyone that loves him does, too, or he’s just as bad as us.
You know what? Maybe the people of Arkham do need some help…but the one that really needs it ain’t in a straight jacket yet!
Q: If you think he's insane, how exactly do you define insanity?
I try not label the world with “sanity” and “insanity” when I can avoid it—Mister J showed me it’s a lot broader than that.
But let’s say we play by your rules. Do you define “insanity” as being a danger to yourself and to others? As being brutal and out of control? As behaving outside the norm, or taking up odd habits? Do you define it as operating outside the law, brutally and without jurisdiction? If we’re insane, so is the Bat!
Q: Well, I suppose so-but Batman at least helps people, instead of just hurting them.
A: Does he? I don’t see him “helping” anyone, toots. I see him getting off his leather-clad ass only when a chance to beat someone up comes around. He doesn’t go outta his way to save anyone, not that I’ve seen; he waits until that becomes a convenient excuse to be out there hurtin’ someone else.
Q: Well, at least he waits for an excuse. He doesn't just barge in and hurt people for no reason. He puts his violent urges to good use.
A: *she shrugs* Our violence wasn’t for “no reason”, either. We were making a statement; is there any better use for something like that than to make a point? He beats people up to take out his issues; we did the same to show the world what we meant. Are you telling me violence for violence sake is better than violence for a good cause?
Q: Well, whether yours is a good cause is debatable is all I'm saying.
A: Yeah, yeah, yeah. *she flips her hand through the air* I gotcha, no need to pound it in. Do you have another question?
Q: What? Oh, yeah, yeah. I also understand that the conditions at Arkham have been described as "intolerable" by patients and former employees. Having been in both positions, can you confirm or deny these allegations?
A: I can confirm them, alright! Working here, the pay was lousy, the security was handsy, and the director clearly had no idea what he was doing; staying here, the grub is lousy, the security is even more handsy, and the director still has no idea what he’s doing. I mean, look at me! If he had any idea how ta’ run a place like this, do you think I’d be here? Personally, I think he’s to blame for my current state of mental health, and should just feel grateful my attorney—Harvey Dent, maybe you’ve heard of him—has advised me not to press charges.
Q: Yes, I've heard of him. He's supposed to be good at what he does. Why did he tell you not to press charges?
A: He says the court’ll never take me seriously. Something about not being able to believe a word I say, blahblahblah. Mostly, though…I think he’s up to something. And I think me making a stink would throw his plans out of whack.
Q: What could he possibly have to gain from that, though?
A: You’re asking the wrong person. Do I look like his type to you? Sorry, I’m a one-clown girl…was a one-clown girl. And now, I’m just a girl. *she puffs her chest out a bit* Want to make something of it?
Q: Um…no thank you. We’ve also heard rumors concerning the legitimacy of your college education. To be blunt: did you sleep your way through med school?
A: What in the…? Woah! Hey there! Getting kind of personal, ain’t you?” *she sighs, sounding somewhat defeated* Look, I…I never…n-not through med school. I mean, I slept around, sure; even got some of the other kids to do my homework for me. But I never slept with the professors. *she stops and grins a bit wickedly* That would be wrong. *she shrugs* I might seem “uneducated” now, but you got to realize, when my pudding remade me…he had to break some things. Shove them in corners, you know? It’s still there. *she taps the side of her head with one finger* Just, uh, not always in easy access.
Q: Oh, Harley-I hope you don’t mind me saying that we here at RP Newspaper consider you to be plenty smart. Just a bit…easily manipulated. Particularly by mad men in suits.
A: Well. I’m glad you have some taste then. So, c’mon! Was that the last of it, or did you have some more? *she grins madly, leaning in* I don’t know if it’s you or if it’s the game, but I’m really starting to get into this! When did you first become a reporter?
Q: Er…I was kinda just the guy bringing them coffee, and they told me they needed someone to send out to interview all the dangerous ones. Apparently this job’s got a bit of a turnover rate.
A: “Yeah? Oooooo~ So this sort ‘a’ Silence of the Lambs-y, ain’t it? Oh, oh, I know! ‘I hate his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti’! HAH! I love that line!”
Q: I…guess? Sort of? I don’t know even know why we got requested for an interview with you. Our readership is weird like that. We seem to mostly get teenage girls who, for whatever reason, really seem to love all these nuts running around Gotham.
A: For some…? Kid. Oh, kid. Will you ever learn? It’s not a matter of them being nutso, but it’s not a mystery, either. Women like the danger. They can say what they will, but when a bad guy with a brilliant mind and a nice bod walks through, all bets are off—and so are her clothes! They like the excitement of it all, don’t’cha see that? Gets the blood pumpin’, give ‘em that adrenaline rush they crave. Why go batty over the Bat when a psychotic clown’s twice as likely ta’ dominate ya’? Not that he would, but still...
Q: I suppose I can see how a teenage girl would find that appealing. I suppose. Hey, since we’ve gotten a bunch of serious question, do you feel like goofing around a bit with the silly ones the paper gave me? Nothing too personal or anything.
A: *shrugs, reclining back against her chair* Sure, why not? I don’t have anything else going on, anyways.
Q: Let’s see…”Did you ever have an imaginary friend as a kid?”
A: Sure, what kid doesn’t? He’s kinda hard to remember, though…I think he must’a’ been a clown or somethin’. I remember a lot of colors.
Q: Did it have a name?
A: Eh, probably…I-I can’t really remember now, though. It was a long time ago.
Q: Have you got any good luck charms, then?
A: Oh, sure I do. You betcha! Mistah J, for one thing…I always feel lucky when I’m around him. Well, until recently….B-but, ah! Hahaha! I got this mini-Jokah key chain. I keep on me at all times, an’ a smiley-face button from my first getaway car—but I leave that wherever I hide out, for sentiment’s sake.
Q: Huh-that’s kind of cute. I didn’t know they made keychains of mass murderers. The more you know. “If you became a zombie, who would be the first person you’d eat?
A: Oh, they’ll make anyone inta a key chain! I’ve even seen little me’s out there.
Hah! Talk about easy; I’d eat Bat-Breath fah sure! No sense in lettin’ him wander around if I can stop ‘im, right?
Q: What’s next, Halloween costumes? “If I could meet anyone, living or dead, I would meet…”
A: Oh, that’ll be the day!
“If I could meet anyone…”? Huh. I guess I’d want ta’ meet Marilyn Monroe. Ask her all about her naughty personal life; it used to fascinate me, ya’ know, growing up.
Q: Do you have a theme song?
A: I dunno…I guess, maybe? I like “Girl Just Wanna Have Fun” and “Barbie Girl”, do those count?
Q: Let’s say they do. Best gift you’ve ever gotten?
A: What, fah like…my birthday or somethin’? Baby Doll—ya’ know Baby Doll, don’t’cha?—got me an’ the babies matching outfits once! Bud an’ Lou ate theirs, ‘a’ course, but I thought it was the sweetest thing anyone had evah done fah me!
Q: Baby Doll? The actress who went crazy after her show got canned? How do you know her?
A: Oh, she’s like a kid sistah to me! We go waaaaaaay back, ya know. When Red’s busy and J’s upset, I go crash with her for a bit, stir the town up—she’s a laugh and a half! Just, y’know, don’t mention her age. Or appearance. Or the old show.
Q: Uhhhh…duly noted. Worst gift you’ve ever gotten?
A: Mistah J got me a banana suit once…it wasn’t even a gag gift! I still don’t know what I’m s’posed to do with it!
Q: Maybe he’s into that sort of thing… Biggest pet peeve?
I kinda hate it when people play with my babies without my permission. It makes me nervous, ya’ know?
Q: Why’s that? Aren’t your babies a little less than defenseless?
I nevah said they couldn’t take care ‘a’ themselves, I just said I don’t like people touchin’ ‘em and playin’ with ‘em without my permission. They’re special ta’ me, okay?