Post by jackz on Apr 7, 2010 12:42:21 GMT -5
Lots of toiling.
Lots of slaving away over the Bunsen burners and silos of chemical storages. It was a lot of work for just ONE clown. He practically ignored his two early classes while he was mixing various parts of adrenaline with two parts of citric acid, often times commenting on what he was doing, but most of time feeling the blank and empty stares of his pupils when they hovered their eyes over his newest bubbling creation. He would then yell at them for being nosy brats and then the whole process would repeat itself.
It was annoying. But this is the price geniuses pay for being such – well – geniuses.
His dress shoes silently clicked on the linoleum floor. Before entering the vast room with bustling children all eating their “highly nutritious” lunches – he went into the bathroom to make sure Jack Napier’s “face” was still on.
Unfortunately, it still was, but working in the fields all day made him a little more agitated and twitchier than usual.
His back was hunched over, leering and cranky, and his hands were either shoved into his pockets or out and about moving strenuously about like birds trapped with pieces of twine around their necks.
Speaking of twine around necks…
He walked and bumped into a kid who was standing in front of him in line. The line nearly stretched to the other end of the cafeteria, and if he could recall the proper amount of time blue collared workers get for breaks – it was an hour. The child looked over his shoulder, a ruffian, he could tell with his signature mark of a backwards cap with a sticker label still on it and jeans that nearly fell down to the floor if it wasn’t for the piece of cord that wrapped around loosely on his hips. The child sneered at him from his shoulder; his slack jawed cow chewing noise over his gum became incessantly louder and more obnoxious. And once his head was turned forward he replied loudly enough so the Joker could hear, “Jeezus, watch yo self.”
Typically, by simply looking at his fashion statement – that asked for social suicide – the Joker would’ve simply snapped his neck. He would’ve fed him to the hyenas after the sneer and probably would’ve made him watched his entrails being pulled out by bloody muzzles after his little comment. But – he stood his ground.
He looked around, once over, twice and was comfortable enough to see no one was looking. He then held his fist out towards the kid and coughed loudly behind him and politely remarked, “Excuse me.” And as the kid whirled his head around at lightening speed to tell his superiors to “get off his back” he was met with his own face slamming hard against the Joker’s raised fist.
“You hit me!” The kid shouted out, as the other kids around him, whom he bullied and made fun in the hallways began to laugh.
“No I didn’t” He said nonchalantly as he steped by him as the line was moving, taking his place.
“Yes you did!”
“No I didn’t you hit yourself.”
The laughter rose, technically he didn’t punch him, he just had his fist raised at the right position, at the right time, and in the right place as he turned his head to meet cheek with fist. The bully began to fluster, his cheeks red with rage.
“I’m telling!”
“Oh really?” He slowly turned aroundt oface the incompetent little brat. “The child who stays in school longer for detention than the janitor, who has lied pretty much the entirety of his life, and who no body likes.” He took his hand mockingly to his chin as if in deep contemplation. “Hrumm, I’m pretty sure you’re mother is gonna believe THAT story.”
He walked away then, leaving the stupid little child back to mull over his dilemma and wounded pride, he happily skipped over to his awaiting lunch. The sloppy Joe mix of mystery meat and old cardboard like wheat bread – though it didn’t appease to the clown’s insatiable and sugary appetite, it didn’t matter so much – he was in a good mood now.
Lots of slaving away over the Bunsen burners and silos of chemical storages. It was a lot of work for just ONE clown. He practically ignored his two early classes while he was mixing various parts of adrenaline with two parts of citric acid, often times commenting on what he was doing, but most of time feeling the blank and empty stares of his pupils when they hovered their eyes over his newest bubbling creation. He would then yell at them for being nosy brats and then the whole process would repeat itself.
It was annoying. But this is the price geniuses pay for being such – well – geniuses.
His dress shoes silently clicked on the linoleum floor. Before entering the vast room with bustling children all eating their “highly nutritious” lunches – he went into the bathroom to make sure Jack Napier’s “face” was still on.
Unfortunately, it still was, but working in the fields all day made him a little more agitated and twitchier than usual.
His back was hunched over, leering and cranky, and his hands were either shoved into his pockets or out and about moving strenuously about like birds trapped with pieces of twine around their necks.
Speaking of twine around necks…
He walked and bumped into a kid who was standing in front of him in line. The line nearly stretched to the other end of the cafeteria, and if he could recall the proper amount of time blue collared workers get for breaks – it was an hour. The child looked over his shoulder, a ruffian, he could tell with his signature mark of a backwards cap with a sticker label still on it and jeans that nearly fell down to the floor if it wasn’t for the piece of cord that wrapped around loosely on his hips. The child sneered at him from his shoulder; his slack jawed cow chewing noise over his gum became incessantly louder and more obnoxious. And once his head was turned forward he replied loudly enough so the Joker could hear, “Jeezus, watch yo self.”
Typically, by simply looking at his fashion statement – that asked for social suicide – the Joker would’ve simply snapped his neck. He would’ve fed him to the hyenas after the sneer and probably would’ve made him watched his entrails being pulled out by bloody muzzles after his little comment. But – he stood his ground.
He looked around, once over, twice and was comfortable enough to see no one was looking. He then held his fist out towards the kid and coughed loudly behind him and politely remarked, “Excuse me.” And as the kid whirled his head around at lightening speed to tell his superiors to “get off his back” he was met with his own face slamming hard against the Joker’s raised fist.
“You hit me!” The kid shouted out, as the other kids around him, whom he bullied and made fun in the hallways began to laugh.
“No I didn’t” He said nonchalantly as he steped by him as the line was moving, taking his place.
“Yes you did!”
“No I didn’t you hit yourself.”
The laughter rose, technically he didn’t punch him, he just had his fist raised at the right position, at the right time, and in the right place as he turned his head to meet cheek with fist. The bully began to fluster, his cheeks red with rage.
“I’m telling!”
“Oh really?” He slowly turned aroundt oface the incompetent little brat. “The child who stays in school longer for detention than the janitor, who has lied pretty much the entirety of his life, and who no body likes.” He took his hand mockingly to his chin as if in deep contemplation. “Hrumm, I’m pretty sure you’re mother is gonna believe THAT story.”
He walked away then, leaving the stupid little child back to mull over his dilemma and wounded pride, he happily skipped over to his awaiting lunch. The sloppy Joe mix of mystery meat and old cardboard like wheat bread – though it didn’t appease to the clown’s insatiable and sugary appetite, it didn’t matter so much – he was in a good mood now.