Hey, Mickey. Playing drums?
“Fuck, yeah. Yknow what, man?”
You love playing drums?
“I love playing drums. I totally do. Don’t get me wrong: wearing wristbands and dungaree-style pants is also the tits, but drumming’s where it’s at.”
“Lemme ask you a question: what’s with the Joker?”
“Yeah. Got tattoos on his face.”
I saw that.
“The Joker’s a psychopathic agent of chaos, not a douchebag.”
“The Joker, yeah. I read it on his forehead, that he’s damaged.”
It reads as a bit “look at me,” yeah.
“And if you look at the fucker’s belly, there’s the top of a big piece just like Tupac used to have.”
“He didn’t choose it, but he did choose to have it permanently etched into his belly in Gothic font.”
Well, what other font could he have chosen to make such a serious statement? Gothic is a font of declaration: you write Constitutions and sports team names with it.
“Right. But Jared Leto Joker has something–you can’t quite make it out–written on his belly in that Gothic font and it may very well be ‘Joker.'”
“Why would you doubt me?”
Sorry. Yeah, that might say “Joker” in Gothic script across his belly like Tupac.
God, that’s an abortion.
“No, this is worse: someone needs an abortion. No one needed this.”
Joker Leto makes time for the gym, I see.
“Gimme some grease paint slathered over a Cuban homosexual’s mustache any day.”
I enjoyed Heath Ledger and Jack Nicholson, but: yeah. For the most part, I’ll take Cesar Romero and Frank Gorshin and all three Catwomans from the Sixties.
“Maybe Michelle Pfeiffer.”
Does Joker Leto have pink-eye?
“I think so, and if he does: it’s the scariest thing about him.”