The Joker

He chose a face that only his mad mother would love. He painted a tragedy upon a crooked grin. His mask was designed to mug any real mirth. His career-path a honking mockery. A blundering funster who picked-up a badgering prod, while he capered inside distorting mirrors. When there was no audience he became the dark intermission, a curtain drawn over a cloaked smirk. Now we see him swaying on street corners, occasionally cackling, much crazier now his hands dripping blood, but on the upside he is doing very well at the box office.