Monday, February 20, 2006

A Warning From Barefoot Poison Ivy!

She's back from the grave.
She's beautiful, seductive, deadly.
She is as maddening and terrifying as ever.
But is Barefoot Pamela Isley still dangerous?

Barefoot Pamela Lillian Isley, aka. Barefoot Poison Ivy. I found her lurking in an algae-laden dike reservoir this morning. She lay there nude in the moldering water, up to her chin. From what I gathered she had slept in there, feeding on the decay itself for substanance. I'm somewhat at a loss for words to readily explain this situation at a veritable exchange. Suffice to say, lying idle in cold moldering moat water cessed over with algae is most unusual behavior even for Barefoot Ivy. Upon my approach she submerged her face once more beneath murkied algae layering the surface of the long-still water, so I summoned her to rise, insisting that she express her affairs plainly. She raised her beautiful slender slick-wet emerging rinsed head from the murk, her pretty green wet facial features, her opening green eyes, her tall wide sleek forehead and bare ears, and her algae-shampooed slicked-back hair glazed and round behind her lovely wet neck somehow gleamed in the dim light. With a sigh she addressed me irreverently, saying that I was full of myself. So much for respect. Her shiny greased-back flat slicked-down wet hair barnacled green with algae and ensuing mildew molds, scant little of her chemical-enriched hair's blood-red hue remained visible, pasted down flat and evenly slicked back beneath the gluey emerald moss behind her neck. Her naked green skin glistened with clorophyll glory as she lifted her slender wet green-skinned beautiful nude body, extricating herself from the murky entrenchment slowly and most disdainfully, as if she wished to remain, indigently. I asked if she was all right, if I could help her? She asked rather cruelly if I was planning to help her the way I did with Killer Croc. And repeat my failure in doing so. No thanks and go to Hell was her reply. She told me I was a hypocrate and became most insulting in the telling of it. At this point, her harsh insults no longer mattered to me. All I wanted was the truth of this matter. I asked what her visit and dereliction was about. Why was she still pretending to be dead? Why did she journey halfway across the country, racing nude upon her athletic always bare feet, to reach the swamp? Barefoot Poison Ivy warned me that the man we both have good reason to hate is coming to get me. She pointed directly to Belle Reve prison on the other side of the bayou, still in operation on the coast. There: Jason Woodrue, the insane Floronic Man remains incarcerated. Suffering the ill effects of a second mystical mindwipe. It was inflicted upon him by an angry barefoot sorceress with diminishing but still considerable powers, due to his own dire transgressions in siding with the forces of evil against my allies, the now-defunct Justice League. Still, Woodrue poses a potential threat. Barefoot Poison Ivy persists that Woodrue will be coming for me again once more, to destroy me and all I hold dear. And this time, even I may not be able to stop him. She demanded that we work together to destroy him now, before the Criminal Society of All Villains United can liberate him from his physical and emotional bonds. If we don't kill him now, he will in time make us wish we had. Seeing no immediate threat from Woodrue, I refused to attack him directly, unprovoked. Barefoot Ivy called me a weak-minded fool in her hauntingly sultry soft voice, as the sky grew darker and cloudy. She stroked back her glazed messy slicked-back hair again, and she walked away confidently nude in a dancing stride, her large green bare breasts bouncing, treading upon her naturally wide-spread supple dirty barefoot toes of her athleticly swift agile and femininely beautiful always bare feet. It started to rain, and the rapid downpour quickly rinsed away the algal bloom residue that had completely covered her slick wet hair before, leaving her sleek wet red hair streaming evenly flat down her back like a trail of blood, down the back of her contrasted green well-endowed beautiful lean nude body. After following her a short distance, I asked, where? In her almost total disregard, Barefoot Ivy stated that she was finally going home to Seattle, and if anyone stood in her way that she would slay them outright, even the Society. I watched, as she turned away, and she safely made her departure, bounding swiftly upon her athletic muddy barefoot toes. Now I could have easily made her my captive and even forced my protection upon her, but I did not. Freedom is all that Barefoot Ivy has left in her life, and I cannot take it away from her. She will, of course, complete her nude barefoot run westward across the country in record time. No doubt, regardless of her intent she will still end up returning east back to the urban hell that is Gotham City.

However, I must now take Barefoot Poison Ivy's dire warning for everything it's worth. If Woodrue is going to be a danger to us all, then it is necessary that I do what I must to be ready to face him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Time For Our Contemplation and Careful Planning...


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