I think of myself as a sane and reletively level headed person, but I'd be a complete
pussy if I didn't admit that
clowns scare me. In fact, if you aren't afraid of clowns,
you scare me.
Picture a clown in your mind. Picture the
funky fro hair from
hell and that gaping,
gory,
autopsy red mouth painted into a frown.
Jesus! The white
pancake makeup they wear only exaggerates the
piss yellow of their teeth.
I imagine that
clowning doesn't come with a good solid
HMO plain, so I'm sure they aren't always in the best of health. They're probably riddled with
disease.
Fucking clowns!
They travel from town to town with the carnies, carrying their
filth and disease and spreading it to unsuspecting folk who don't have the good sense to fear them.
Oh, but
I'm smarter than that. I've got clowns figured out. They lure you into a false sense of giddiness, what with their pratfalls and merriment. Then when you least suspect it, they throw contaminated confetti
in your face.
Only in the end, you don't know it's the clowns that did you in. You die a slow, lingering
death thinking to yourself, "Well, at least I got to see the
circus clowns 'fore I died." And you die nevering knowing that Punch totally
fucked you in the ass.
Fucking
clowns.