[The audio feed ticks on, and a second later there comes a woman's voice heavy with a New York/New Jersey accent. She sings along in the most distracted way to the childhood tune of
"Miss Susie", minus the customary claps.]
Miss Harley had a headache, it was quite the dizzy spell!
When she first got to Whatsit's Port, her body felt like --
HELLO operator, gimme number nine!
And if you disconnect me, I'll kick your big --
BEHIND the baseball diamond, sittin' by some lousy dump!
Where some geeks have taken me who triedta touch my --
RUMPUS rooms are dandy, they really are a gas!
But she was fine in Gotham 'til Bats knocked her on her --
ASKED her lotsa questions, too bad she kinda lied!
When she heard she was in Canada I swear she could have --
D-I-E-D, D-I-E-D, died, died, died!
[She clucks her tongue to the beat a lingering moment afterward in thought, then speaks with a bit of forced optimism.]
This whole peculiar predicamink couldn't possibly be permanent, could it? I mean, this is nuttier'n how I like my fruitcake. And I know fruitcake!
[An awkward, nervous pause.]
So, uh, 411? Canadian Oracuddles? Anybody? ...How do I dial outta this joint?