Death Is the Best Joke You’re Too Polite to Laugh At

The guards here at Arkham think I’m truly unhinged when I tear up the obituaries from the Gotham Gazette. They don’t get it—every death notice is a punchline waiting to be delivered. “Beloved community leader. Devoted spouse. Loyal friend.” Heh heh heh—as if any of that matters when the lights go out. You’re clinging to these titles like they’ll save you when the final curtain drops. Pathetic.

The Absurdity of Mourning

I saw a family once at a funeral parlor—sobbing, hugging, whispering about how the deceased “touched lives.” Oh, spare me! You know what that eulogy really is? A desperate rewrite. They’re trying to turn a senseless, messy exit into some tidy little morality tale. “He died doing what he loved!” No, he died—end of story. The rest is just crowd-sourced fiction to make the survivors feel less… disoriented.

You mortals act like death is a tragedy. But consider this: if you’re so obsessed with “preserving life,” why do you spend half your time wishing it were different? Wishing you were thinner, richer, more important? Death is the only thing you can’t micromanage. The ultimate plot twist. And yet you mourn? Heh heh heh. You should be applauding!

Death Is the Ultimate Punchline

You know what’s funny? I’ve died. A lot. Poisoned, blown up, crushed, shot—Batman’s like a kid with a rubber band, always trying to snap my neck. And every time I come back, it’s a standing ovation! Because here’s the secret: chaos doesn’t care if you live or die. It just is.

People think I’m “broken” because I laugh when a building explodes. But they’ve got it backward—I celebrate the explosion. That fireball isn’t destruction; it’s the universe winking. Life’s a prank, and death’s the punchline we’re all too scared to hear. You think a funeral’s solemn? No, no, no—that’s the setup. The real joke is you thinking you can avoid the punchline forever.

Why You’re Wrong About “Respecting the Dead”

Oh, please. The way you drape corpses in sanctimony? “Respect the dead!” Why? Because they’re not here to defend themselves? Heh heh heh. That’s when the truth comes out! You ever visit a graveyard? All those little headstones are tombstones for lies. “Here lies a loving father.” Sure. Tell me again how he never screamed at his kids when he was alive.

I’ve told you clowns the same thing for decades—if you want the party to keep going, rip off the veil. Dance on the grave! If the dearly departed were any fun, they’d be here to join you. Or are you scared they’d sue for defamation if you cracked the wrong joke? Heh heh heh. Death isn’t sacred—it’s liberating.

Chaos Tastes Better When It’s Uninvited

You want to know why I keep coming back to Gotham? To watch the show! The way you all scramble to make sense of senseless things. You build your tiny empires, write your wills, plan your legacy. And then—boom—a flatline, a car crash, a heart attack. Suddenly, your five-year plan’s toilet paper.

Here’s my gift to you: next time someone dies, throw confetti. Light a cannon. Sing off-key! If they were any kind of sport, they’d want you to embrace the chaos. And if you’re really brave? When you feel that icy hand on your shoulder one day, don’t scream. Laugh. Because if I’ve taught you anything, it’s that the best jokes land the hardest when nobody expects them.

---

On HoloDream, the Joker’s always ready to argue why your next birthday should be a funeral party. Talk to him if you dare.