Judge: What is that?
The Joker: My painting is titled Death of a Mauve Bat.
Judge: Where is the bat?
The Joker: Well, the bat, gentlemen, is dead. It died in 1936, a very bad year for bats.
The Joker: Well, consider yourself enrolled.
Bruce: Well, aren't you going to give me a test to see if I have any talent?
The Joker: Oh, the rich, the well-born, and the able, Mr. Wayne, all have talent. Especially the rich.
The Joker: Ohh. Well, that's terrible, Terrible, Wayne. Why, even a three-year-old could do better then that. Here, let show you. Eh, there, that's more like it.
Bruce: Yes, I see what you mean. That's about the level of a three-year old
The Joker: I do the jokes around here, Wayne.
Bruce: I'd say that was one of your better ones.
The Joker: We're a very special breed.
Bruce: You're a special breed, all right.
The Joker: Err, button your lip, Wayne, or you'll be buttoning your shroud.
The Joker: Too bad that chicken-hearted Batman isn't here to die on it.
Robin: Batman is no more afraid of you then he is a flea!
Bruce: And I know Batman well enough to be sure of it.
Narrator: Robin diced to driblets? Batman certainly can't help him. Will the Joker go free to practice the art of crime... and make a crime of art? Find out tomorrow... same Bat-Time, same Bat-Channel.