“Listen, Clooney”, shouted Ingrid Newkirk over the telephone, “this is vitally important. We need a sample of your sweat, damnit!

“Who is this?”, asked Clooney, poking his chin in admiration.

“We don’t have time for questions!”

“Well, you know. Instead of that, you could have told me who you were. It would probably have taken up far less time, considering now I’m going to ask you again. So, who the hell is this?”

“You play it tough, Clooney. Alright, I’ll bite. You want to play it that way?”

“Is this a game? I’ll be white. Can I move first?”

“Wait, what? No, listen… George – may I call you George?”

“No. You can call me Batman if you like, though.”

“… Listen, Clooney. All I meant to say was.. urgh, now I’ve lost my train of thought.”

In the background, a voice shouted in affirmation, “His sweat, Ingrid! His sweat!”.

“Oh goodness,” continued Newkirk, “I can’t believe I forgot. Listen, Clooney. Your sweat. We need it.”

Silence.

“Clooney?”

More silence.

“Batman?”

“I’m here. What’s the problem, commissioner?”

Newkirk stammered in confusion. She would not be deterred, however.

“Here’s the deal, Batman. Eh… Joker’s escaped from,” she mutes the reciever, “what’s that place called?”, she asks her assistants, “Markam? Bakram? Guantanamo? Arkham! He’s escaped from Arkham, Batman. We need your help!”

“The Joker! That devilish fiend!” retorted Clooney, still toying with his chin. “Where did I put my mask, now… Is it in the closet? No, those are my Ocean’s 11 suits. Hey, don’t tell the agency, eh? They think a temp stole them. Morons. Hmmm… How about in the chest in the guest room. Ah, there it is. My precious.”

“Cloo… Batman? You still there?”

Amidst the static, Newkirk heard a brustling sound on Clooney’s end.

“Yes! Alfred, activate the bat-elevator! To the Bat-mobile! Alfred? Hey, what did you do with Alfred?”

“What? Me? Clooney, enough of this. I never would have thought you’d make asking for your sweat in order to manufacture a new line of tofu modeled around your natural smell more awkward than it already is. You could have just said no.”

“You clever little wench! I know you’ve taken Alfred! What, you think you can just come in here and buy off my butlers and not expect to be called on it? I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll kill you!”

“Clooney, seriously. You can get out of character now.”

“DEAD, you hear me! You’re dead!”

“Ok, thanks for your time, Clooney. My reps will call your reps and we’ll get an official response from you. Have a good one. Oh, and don’t forget, save the whales.”

Newkirk hung up the phone and turned to her assistants in bemusement. “That did not work out nearly as well as I had hoped it would,” said Newkirk. “That was almost as bad as the time we had to explain our big crematorium out back. Who’s idea of CloFu was it, anyway? Tell them they’re fired.”

Back at Wayne Manor, Clooney was rushing to his library.

“Who was on the phone, Batman?” asked Robin expectantly.

“Two-Face, Robin. It was Two-Face. He’s got Alfred!”

THE END

But seriously, Clooney’s actual response is way better than anything I could ever come up with.