It didn’t matter anymore. The Joker had done it. He’d found Crane sitting in a corn field, dressed him up as a scarecrow, and ripped him open. Dust and moldy hay flew everywhere in his head and he couldn’t discern any smell other than blood. It was still on his tongue reminding him what had just happened.
Joker, for his part, couldn’t have been
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And the sequel is delicious!
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To a serious review, I love the playing with people's heads, I love to do that in stories and here is was very convincing. Picking at the fine strings of sanity, you do it well.
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