theload asks: What do you think of the people who ship you with Jonathan?
The colloquialism ‘ship’ is not a verb I employ outside of the package delivery system,
but since I only feign ignorance when it amuses me, let’s speculate: one side is sadistic,
self-absorbed, unwilling to compromise - and that’s just me. What kind of pathetic
standards do you believe I have, that I would subject myself to the ministrations of a
mad scientist in order to have some kind of companionship? Wait, no - I’ve got it. It’s a
game, isn’t it? A game called ‘How Low Can Edward Go?’. A psychological limbo
contest, where you can track the progress of my deteriorating mental state by how close
to the Earth’s core my standards can dip. (scoffs) What do I think of these people? I
don’t.

Anonymous asks: Hello, I know you’re not the Mad Hatter but a smart mine like yours
should be able to confirm, why is a raven like a writing desk?
AND
Anonymous asks: So Edward, how is a Raven like a writing desk?
AND
Anonymous asks: yo mr riddler, how is a raven like a writing desk? love a big fan!
AND
Anonymous asks: Why is a raven like a writing desk?
AND
Anonymous asks: If every riddle must have an answer, then what is the answer to Lewis
Carroll’s “Why is a raven like a writing desk”?
How about you ask Jervis Tetch this, sometime - he can give you the verbal run-around
like Carroll did, though Tetch’s mutterings owe more to paranoid schizophrenia than
Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland Syndrome. Every riddle has an answer, and this one does
not; it’s not a riddle, it’s a nonsensical question created to be without an answer. That no
one, not even Carroll himself, has been able to adequately provide a satisfactory
response is a testament, I suppose, to the author’s ability to create absolute gibberish.
That’s all you’re getting out of me, because I am completely sick to death of being
presented with this question and would be happy to never hear it again.

thatwasrandom87 asks: Have you ever sent a riddle to Batman in the medium of
interpretive dance?
Oh, good Lord. This is not even worthy of the brain power required to formulate a
scathing response. Just… go play in traffic or something.

Anonymous asks: You’re adorable.
Oh, you betcha.

Elkian asks: You sure seem to have a lot of fans. Do you approve of this, or does it
strike you more as annoying? Also your voice is both terrifying and awesome; Perfect
for this.
I’ve long learned to temper any enthusiasm with the knowledge that ‘fan’ is short for
‘fanatic’. Arms-length is required for any kind of interaction, for il ne faut pas toucher
aux idoles, etc, etc on one hand, and not wanting to get their crazy on me on the other.
The irony is obvious, yes, well done. Any type of fan will always get a critical eye from
me, because obsession should never be taken as authentic: they’ll worship you one
moment, tear you to shreds the next… almost as if they were waiting for you to reveal a
critical flaw that they could exploit. There’s naught to be done but wait it out: telling
people not to obsess only adds gasoline to the fire. I’ll just continue to go about my
business until you inevitably move on to the next shiny thing.
How about you hurry up with that - I don’t have all day.

theload: Cancer?
Leo. Next.

Anonymous asks: I admire you, Riddler, but I don’t admire your henchgirls. Instead of
wasting your time on those bimbos, you spend time with someone intelligent, someone
who admired you before you became the famous Riddler.
(laughs) Never play poker - you have too many tells. But in response, I’m afraid that’s
impossible, since I don’t know anyone intelligent from before I became the Riddler.
However, if I wanted to spend more time with people who admired me, I’d hang out here
more often; though I fear even I could tire of sycophancy eventually. Bottom line is, I
don’t hire bimbos because I have no use for incompetence. As for my time, it’s best
spent as it is now: by myself.

knackforknaves asks: Do you have any thoughts on the GOP candidates for the 2012
presidential election?
AND
spartadog asks: What are your thoughts on Rick Santorum?
I don’t bother with politics. It has little impact on my life; one character gets voted in,
messes things around, and then it all gets undone again when the public gets sick of
them and forgets how much they hated the last one. And so on and so forth. It’s dull and
predictable. It’d take the likes of… Lex Luthor being voted into office to get my attention.
Good Lord, could you imagine?

Anonymous asks: Who the hell is Enigma? Is she really your daughter? Where the hell
did she even come from? I mean, who’s the mother then if she is your kid, or how did
you meet Enigma if she isn’t? I don’t need the bird and the bees talk.
First: no idea. Second: no. Third: one assumes a vagina, or a womb at the least. Fourth:
I’ve never met this person, or her mother. Fifth: good for you. That it? We done?

Empiregrotesk asks: We never got a chance to actually see you when you discovered
you had cancer, nor much after. We only learned that you had cancer when it was no
longer a problem. What was the entire experience like; from the discovery to the
eventual cure?
Cancer? I hardly know her! (laughs) But seriously folks, I think you’ve been reading too
many comic books. I fear with so many brilliant thoughts and machinations housed in
my beautiful brain, there would simply be no room for a tumour to grow. And even if
there were, it could never afford the rent.