The Joker nodded, weighing his response. He pulled back a little and reached into his pocket.
"I like freaks," he said, pulling a small, black, oblong object out of his pants pocket. "I mean that. I do. I like people who go beyond the ordinary. That's why The Bat, he and I, you see, we get along so well. We've just got so much in common."
He flicked the small blade out of the knife, revealing the little black object's true identity. He held it over his eye, peering at him through the little hole near the hilt. That black on black-rimmed eye staring our from the center of a knife was a weird and grisly sight. "So don't get me wrong. I don't hold it against you--on the contrary, I think it's kind of...nice." He smiled, levering the knife at him as he stood from his chair.
"Now, I've got no intention of making you sleepy, so...let's try it your way. Here's your brass tacks."
He plunged the knife into Remy's shoulder in such a cavalier way that it seemed unreal. He did it a few more times, leaving bloody gashes in his shoulder. He then began the process of unbuttoning his shirt, glancing over at the seeping wounds to see if the rumors he'd heard were true. He gestured with the knife.
"Ya see? Brass tacks. Or...copper tacks. Because blood. You know. It tastes like..." He licked the knife. "Yeah. Like copper."