The Joker howled with laughter as he finished his mad dash across the chilled amusement park grounds. His favorite toy sat waiting for him like a mannered pet, always faithfully oiled, gassed, and triple-checked by ever loyal goons. He adored the cheek of the thing. It really was a thing not of beauty and grace but of mad-cap whimsical spirit. Imagine it! An actual vintage clown car circa the forties done up lavishly in garish purples and golds festooned with the gay imagery of circus life in an albeit faded and rust-weathered but still prominently emblazoned tapestry. See there, like the sinister sadistic owner, the horse-faced, heavy-toothed grin of a lovingly detailed ringmaster on the hood, defiled and stained with the paints and makeups of the Joker's own visage, twisted and turned into the Joker himself. "So into the little car then, Mr. Joker", he muttered. He was fully cognizant of the fact that the big batty nuisance had risen from the dead before. He therefore watched with some impatient drumming of white gloved fingers as a strange woman in garments almost as peculiar as his dropped down the dunk tank escape tunnel and watched with considerably more interest as Batman with Vicki in tow exited. It was time. Grabbing an old director's style cone megaphone from the seat next to him Joker sang out loudly as the little car brrpppd and putted and began to zoom along. "Ohhhhhh, when you're a clown... nobody takes you seriously!!!!!!" The chase was on.