He couldn't kill Dent with bubbles. The damn things popped midair, unprepared for the velocity he inflicted on them. He seethed as he watched Harvey Dent expose himself under the silky warmth and luxurious mounds of soaped orbs, trying really hard not to look at anything too masculine.

I'm not queer, he thought. Fuckin' no. I can't even pronounce words fully in my own fuckin' thoughts, whaddya expect?

But as he tried to avoid Harvey's inexplicably bear-like thighs and his drizzled-with-testosterone chest, Bullseye felt his own manhood question itself. Some bubbles by his pelvis popped.

He needed something solid to fling into Dent's frontal lobes, right now. Immediately right now.

Bullseye looked to his left. Oh. Perfect.

"Rubber ducky. You're the one."