The Joker movie asked us the question, what if a guy were crazy and did something really super crazy? The Joker II posits a different question, what if the guy disassociated during his trial and dreampt up some cool song and dance sequences to his favorite popular songs? These important hypothetical questions posed to us by visionary director Todd Phillips are as poignant as they are timely. It makes me think about all my time in court and all the cool things I dreamed up and imagined and just how important all those dreamy-dreams really could be to the world. It makes one realize there's likely a whole untapped universe of defendant daydreams that we, as a society, are all ignorant of. Should we really allow these dreams to go unseen and unheard and just accept a trial as a dispute between two parties without examining what cool things are going on in the minds of the person on trial? Clearly, according to this mommy blogger, our system of law fails to take into account the artistic heart and soul of the very people it accuses of being bad guys and doing bad things. Shouldn't we as citizens be concerned? I slapped publish on my movie review, feeling emotionally spent. Page views soared. The comments section crowded with praise. My lawyer texted me, telling me I had missed a court date. That's all he ever does. He never asks about my dreams, about a horse's dreams. I slap the intercom and tell my secretary I need a new lawyer. I need a lawyer who cares about my hopes and dreams and who is more interested in my daydreams and asks about what I've been fantasizing about. She says she'll get right on it. Good, I think. I slap the button again and tell her the new lawyer needs to know a lot about Star Wars. The old Star Wars, not the new stuff. She says she already has "lawyer foremost expert on star wars" in the google search bar. That's why I pay her the big bucks. I ease back into my executive office chair, set my hooves together in deep contemplation of my planned Star Wars trilogy about a horse inheriting the legacy of Luke Skywalker. "Amazing," I whisper to myself, complex glowing light saber battles illuminating my mind like mandalas of tibetan saints. Suddenly, a strange voice breaks the peace. A harsh, sinister voice, like glass and glowing coals raked over a bed of ash calls out "FATHER. WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?" I leap from my executive chair and slap the intercom asking my secretary if she just heard a ghostly voice but she had already thrown open the door to hurry in and comfort me. "Why would God let anything so scary happen to a horse?" I asked her, and she pet my head and kissed my temple and soothed me. "God is wrong," she said, and swept my mane out of my eyes. "I'll reach out to the prayer network and make sure he hears from us." It feels good to be right on the matter, but my horse eye narrows in contempt for a God that would scare a horse, or even just allow a horse to be scared. Then the voice returned! "Father!" It screamed, and its anguish was like nothing I had ever experienced. I bolted, bolting being the natural instinct of the horse, but having nowhere to go in my office I pretty much just thrashed around and destroyed my library before my secretary got hold and whoa'd me out of my bolting mindset. "We have to do something about this horrible voice," I told my secretary, but she was already on the phone calling maintenance. As she alerted the staff, I set out to determine, by Occam's Razor, who might be shouting scary things in the building. I started out by writing down the things I heard. I underlined "FATHER" twice, three times. I penciled in "Jesus?" and circled it. Was Jesus haunting my building? I google'd where was Jesus buried? I google'd "is Jerusalem in Sacramento". I google'd "where in Sacramento is Jerusalem". I google'd is the Bonky Administrative Skyscraper and Football Colosseum in Jerusalem. The questions were just mounting and the answers were just too hard and long to read. The lights flickered, and it was the kind of flickering where you just know, you just know it in your heart, that your phone battery is lingering near empty and the power is about to go out. Sure enough, I check my phone, the power cuts out, and in the darkness my phone screen shines bright, and it's at 1%. I'm about to cry, but secretary returns with a hard hat with a lantern on it. She hands me a walkie talkie and we test the connection. She tells me she's going to search the building and to wait here and don't open the door for anybody but her. She tells me to hide under the desk because that's what brave boys do when they're scared. She loads her shotgun and tiptoes out into the hallway. I lock the door behind her. I set my ear to the door and hear her footsteps thumping down the hall. I hear her turn the corner and her rifle goes off, sending shock and alarm through my horsey-body. A tense moment of silence ensues. "Sorry," I hear her say. There's some choking sounds, like someone is disgorging blood from their lungs. It sounds just like Dan from accounting disgorging blood from his lungs due to a gunshot wound. While that's horrible for Dan, it's a relief to me that it wasn't a scary ghost coming to do me mischief. I breathe a sigh of relief. As I back away, I see the dark silhouette of the intruder. The intruder that must have been hiding behind the door all this time. I had locked myself in with them. My scream came out like a dog whistle, outside of the range of human hearing, and just the grackle of my larynx contorting being audible. The dark figure did not move, but I recognized in its contours the short stature and horse-head of the horse-man. Relief hit me. "Pickle Horse-man," I said, panting, "you scared me." The figure I believed to be Pickle Horse-man flicked on a flashlight in their hands, pointed up into the face, illuminating the details. It wasn't my pal Pickle Horse-man at all! It was his daughter. "Chartreuse," I whispered, angrily, equal parts relieved and disturbed, "It's Fuschia," she said. I always mix them up. The Horse-men daughters are really all shaped verys similarly. "Why have you been hiding in my office howling like a freak?" I asked her. "Where is father?" She asked, monotone, disregarding my question. Pickle Horse-man, of course, was out working on the Bonky statue, the largest statue in the world. But when a girl goes monotone, the bro preservation code activates. My ears flattened back, "he's out right now," my eyes scanned my office for an excuse, they landed on my executive office putting set, "he's out golfing." "Where?" She asked. "Bonky Greens," I told her, "the world's greatest medieval themed golf course and go-kart destination." A shotgun blasted somewhere in the building. "When will he be back?" Asked Fuschia. "Let me text him and find out," I said, hurrying to text him not to show up because his crazy daughter was in my office holding me hostage to her emotional volatility like some sort of victorian spirit. But my phone had died. He would be showing up any minute now. It seemed like the confrontation was fated to occur. I washed my hooves of it. More shotgun blasts rang out. The lights flickered back on. "Sir," my secretary's voice came through the walkie talkie, "I've eliminated accounting, just in case they might accidentally startle you." "Good work," I told her, "the emergency has passed. We're not haunted. Not by anything supernatural anyhow, just the mistakes of the past catching up with us." "Anything you need me to take care of?" She asked. "No, no," I said, only briefly imagining my secretary blasting Pickle Horse-man's daughter out the window like in Robocop 2. "Just bring me those reports from the Sacramento Alliance for Horses in Tech," I told her, which was code for bring me something so I could look busy. I unlocked the door and let her in. "Just set those on my desk," I pointed. "Chartreuse," "Fuschia," said Fuschia. "Right, have a seat while we wait for your dad." She had a seat and I went over to my desk and unfolded my spectacles and set them over the bridge of my muzzle and got to work pretending to read papers. As I rifled through the papers and pretended to read, my anxiety skyrocketed. I realized that this pretense of work I had set out for myself so I wouldn't have to deal with Pickle Horse-man's daughter was no different from actual work. I worked up a lather trying not to watch the hand of the clock tick by, second after second of my precious life lost to this charade. Luckily, Chartreuse Horse-man seemed similarly affected, her knee began bouncing at first, then her breathing spiked with some inner frustration. Her head rolled with some inner debate. I poured over the papers, given a second wind now that I thought I might actually have a shot at winning. She might actually abandon the whole affair out of boredom. I wrote down "WINNING!" and circled it and underlined it. But soon again I felt time stretch on into infinity, and worse, Chartreuse Horse-man had the couch to herself, and she was able to lie down, lie on the floor with her legs up on the sofa, rest her giant horse head on the arm rest, slide down the sofa to sit on the floor, and assume all sorts of comfortable modes, whereas I had to be hunched over these awful papers. I looked over at her and she was looking at me. I looked back at my papers. Waited. Looked back over at her. Still looking at me. Looked back at my papers. Waited. Looked over. Still looking at me. "Got any porn on your computer?" She asked. I choked. Somehow the shock of the question had thrown my larynx into disarray, sending a spray of spittle up or down the back of my throat and sending me into a coughing fit. I looked at her in disbelief. "Of course I have porn on my computer," I said. I'm an adult for heaven's sakes. So I put on Hot Colts and WASP Milfs and we watched that and then she put on Horse-men Teen Shower Bully and then I put on Big Dicks and Roller Blades III and then she put on Pounded by My Own Mechsuit During a Zeon Assault and then I put on Amazon Pole Riders in Timbs and then she put on Mother in Law Helps Me Quit Masturbation and then I put on MILF POLICE and then she puts on Jerkin in Jorts and then I put on Competitive Ass-Eating on the Plexiglass Voyeur Tour Bus, and then she put on the Big Dicked Bandit and Chartreuse, I mean, Fuschia, says that the big dick bandit has the best dick in the business and that scene was genius to put him together with Winona Bicycletta whose prodigious ass was the best in the business and how it was a perfect union of dick and ass, but that its story failed to add the necessary psychosexual intrigue and that the same production company had worked on Stepson Milks my Cowtits, and how all they had to do was use the story outline from Stepson Milks my Cowtits in Big Dick Bandit and they would have made maybe the best porn anyone had ever seen. It was that moment I realized I was working with a porn genius. "How do you know so much about porn?" I asked her. "Oh, my dad raised me in a virtual reality machine that exposed me to porn 24/7 for the first twenty years of my life." My mind raced back. Could this be true? Could Pickle Horse-man be so heartless as to raise his daughter in a porn matrix??? There must be some mistake. "Wait a second," I thought back, "that's not true." "Pretty sure I know my own experience," she said. "No. Your dad raised you in a DREAM matrix. You were supposed to be DREAMING all that time to protect you from the horrors of the world." "Yeah. A dream matrix..." she said. "Right," I said. "...manufactured in the porn dimension." She leveled her eyes at me. I thought about it. "Oh, shit," I said. "Yeah." "No wonder you're mad at him." "It's just really hard to learn elementary math when your teachers are doing anal. I just think about what my life could have been if it hadn't been waylaid by pornography. I could have been a doctor or a scientist or an important politician that truly helped make things better for people." "Hmm." I hmm'd. Then it hit me. I slammed the intercom, calling my secretary into the room. "Secretary," I said. "What is it?" She asked, somewhat taken aback by my sudden burst of energy and enthusiasm. "I just had the most brilliant idea a horse has ever had." "Well? What is it?" She asked, beaming with pride. "We're going into the porn industry," I said, "Secretary, meet the visionary director of our very first cinematic porn universe in 4k." Fuschia Horse-man slapped the sides of her face in surprise. And just as I was announcing our partnership, Pickle Horse-man walked into the office.