The Joker

(written in third person omniphrenic)

"Come in Irving," the doctor said flatly.
Irving shuffled coyly through the office door. In his striped
pajamas with his oversized fuzzy bear slippers, his bulbous nose plagued with blood vessels broken from alcohol, and his long unkept hair divided between his big bald spot gave him the appearance of a hobo clown. He smiled warmly, as if to say, 'everything will be all right.'
Everything will be all right. Everything will be all right.
"Sit down, please Irving."
He did so.
"So you want to be released," the doctor said frankly.
I have work to do. "Yes sir. I feel I can be a productive member of society." He had heard that phrase earlier and decided to use it for the interview. The medication he was on, surpressed the vitality of his spirit, and the thought weighed on him heavily.
Looking at the report in front of him, the doctor said, "I
understand you have been very cooperative about taking your medication lately."
"Yes sir," Irving answered from the remote ether world of the
drugs.
I'll set up on Drury Ave, and speak at the park. I remember
something but I forget...Ha! Albatross. What a funny word...
"Irving! Pay attention!" The words cut into his reality and
yanked him into the doctors'.
The doctor watched as the fading clowns' smile went from comfortaby numb right up to a verbal snicker, before fear washed over it.
Negativity!
The word sounded through his mind like an alarm. He had to do
something!
"I hope you don't mind that I wore my bare feet." He said pointing to his fuzzy bear slippers.
The doctor looked and smiled.
The alarm shut off.
"As I was saying, there are some points I would like to discuss
with you first. Is that okay?"
"Yes." The innuendo of agreement had been reached by rote, which defined itself as subjugated hypothetical assimilation. The loudspeaker outside the office said calmly, "Dr. Rueter to Practology, please, Dr. Rueter."
Irving smiled. He felt embued in positive energy, and his body
almost seemed to float above the comfortable chair he was in.
"First off, the time you disturbed Dr. Phelcews' lecture."
Oh oh. There's negativity getting in here.
Dr Phelcew had been teaching laser disection when Irving burst into the classroom and began slapping all the students bottoms with a rubber chicken as he ran.
That place has to be cleaned of negative energy regularily. People shouldn't donate their bodies if they're going to stay attached to them after they die.
"How did you smuggle the rubber chicken in?" The doctor asked.
The rubber chicken was a big issue at the hospital. One of the security staff had even been let go over it.
Chicka-chicka-chicken in....Irving?....chicka-chicka-chicken in...
"Irving? Are you listening? Where did you get the rubber
chicken?"
His eyes lost the euphoric glaze as he focused on the doctor, his infantile smile fading to a frown.
"I..." he searched himself for any recollection of a rubber
chicken, "...can't remember."
Experience told the doctor that Irving was being sincere. "Do you remember why you did it?"
His long tufts of hair around his ears danced as he shook his head slowly.
"It says here you claimed that you , '...had to clean the room for nurse Halloways' inspection'?"
"Yes."
Hallow-bitch! Don't be negative! Keep your guard up!
Balloons....
"What made you think she was going to inspect that room?"
"I misunderstood," was always a good answer.
The doctor referred to his report, saw it checked out and perused the next section.
Irving thought of nothing as he floated like a balloon amongst
fluffy clouds. It felt so good to think of nothing. To be
weightless...fresh, crisp air all around...elation without
grounds...timeless...
"Irving!"
He blinked as he looked around in confusion. Everything in the
office seemed so dingy, despite all the clinical white.
"What of Nurse Patricks' brassiere?"
A look of guilt painted itself across Irvings face. "I told
everyone that I don't know!" he shouted over zealously.
He pictured it swaying in the breeze triumphantly atop the branch he had stuck in the ground to be a flag pole. It was to be a symbol of his love to ward off any stray negative energy. Symbols of love worked great for warding off negativity. She was so full of positive energy.
He knew he was just a battle-worn, bedraggled old codger, but she found a place in his heart which he was powerless to prevent. Come hell or high water he would always love her, even if he could never express it. One day she bent over and he could see her panties. The thrill of the experience sent Irvings blood pulsating through him like he hadn't felt in decades. Not even the medication could calm him. So they gave him more, and it did calm him. The next day he snuck into the nurses locker-room and stole her bra. Shortly after, he realized what he had done was a ruse by the forces of negativity, and he had lost a battle.
So he quickly repented, and tried to put it back. By that time, the
alarm had gone around that someone stole Nurse Patricks bra, and they were keeping their eye on the area. They spotted Irving as he guiltily shuffled towards the locker room, but he saw them and bolted. He knew it would end up in a negative attack if he let them catch him, so he quickly stuffed it down his pants. They caught him anyway, he was overwhelmed by a negative energy assault. During the whole process, he only gave them his name: Joker; rank: Warrior; serial number: a buck three eighty.
Judging from Irving silence, the doctor concluded he was still
unwilling to face up to it, so he proceded.
Name: Joker. Rank: Warrior. Serial number: A buck three
eighty....Name: Joker. Rank: Warrior. Serial number....
"I'm afraid that you will have to show more presence if you wish for me to procede. It is very important you pay attention. Again, and for the final time...
The ward had been plagued by an outbreak of fake vomit attacks.
Almost everybody spewed at once shortly after eating lunch. In a sudden panic, the nurses scurried about to quickly investigate, only to find fake vommit. The patience laughed uproariously for over an hour, and one was still laughing. Even some of the nurses laughed after they realized what was going on. Negativity dared not peek around the ward that afternoon, but stayed at home in the deepest corners of the nurses station and doctors offices. The stunt had Irvings trademarks plastered all around it, and it was a fore-gone conclusion when they questioned him about it.
A mental picture of Nurse Patricks boobs as he imagined them
flashed through his mind. He quickly checked it to see if it was
negative or positive. It was hard to tell. But he didn't become one of the worlds' foremost warriors for positive energy without learning tracking skills first. First, where did it come from...
"What made you want to do that?
"The negative side of my mind," Irving responded.
...where does it go...
"Good. And would you do it again?"
"I don't like to go there."
...where is it most vulnarable to attack...
"Good. Do you now know why that type of behavior is wrong?"
"I will try harder to get along with everybody."
...the negativity was easily dispelled...
"Excellant!" The doctor looked pleased.
Was he going to get released?
"I am recommending you for three more months of therapy here..."
A tidal wave of negative energy suddenly crashed into the room. It assaulted Irving like hordes of tiny demons, covering him and overwhelming him...
"...with Dr. Idle. You have made tremendous progress yet we are not quite there..."
.....it was suffocating and he wanted to scream in a primal attempt to break free...
"...no....please..." he whined... "the medication is negative...I can't take it anymore..."
"Three months will pass by quickly, and you'll feel much better..."

The realization hit him suddenly! He was a prisoner of war! He had to get out!
"NO!" he screamed violently as he burst out of his chair. The
exuberation of battle coursed through him as he tossed the minion of
Negativity aside like a rag doll. Unfortunately for him, the doctor was quick enough to press the button that would summon more before he crumpled in the corner. They burst through the doors quickly and lunged after Irving.
He fought valiantly, refusing to give up until all his energy was spent. As they dragged him down the hall to his cell, he had just enough presence of mind to utter a positive mantra to keep himself alive..."what's green and slithers down hospital halls...Mucus
Welby...what's green..."


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