He let go of Remy and spread his hands. Blood was trickling down the knife and over his gloves. "I won't lie--misery's fun." He smiled. "It's a really good joke. People only get upset because you're screwing with these little lives they've built for themselves. These...relationships, friendships, things they think are important. They only get upset because they expect them to be there all the time, every day, forever. I just like to prove to them that life isn't fair, and nothing's predictable. It's pretty simple, really."
He leaned over, his face coming down to Remy's level. "Nothing's funny until you've got tragedy under your belt. 'Til then, what've you got to compare the funny stuff to?" He smiled.
The Joker pulled off his gloves and tossed them lightly aside, revealing long, callused fingers covered in grime and vestiges of makeup. Then he began digging into his stomach with the knife, talking as he went. 'It's a pretty nifty talent you've got," he said, carving merrily away. He was pulling the knife down in a semi-circle again, right through his abdominal wall. "I just love watching it do its thing. So neat and clean. I wonder if it'll ever get tired."
He pulled away, pausing. "Speaking of tired--I bet you are just sick of all those accusations people have been throwing at you. Monster, crazy person, evil as all hell--I feel your pain, really."
He swung his chair back around, sitting down as he waited for the wound to heal. "That must be just awful," he said, resting his head against his hand. "People calling for your death and all, even after you throw yourself at me to prove you're not one of the bad guys. It's a shame it didn't prove anything, all of this you're going through."