A couple years ago I wrote an innocent story (or so I thought) about a story I saw on TV regarding a national clown shortage. Hating clowns the way I do I sort of gleefully reported the news and poked fun at them. Well, turns out one of the bozos didn’t appreciate my sort of humor, possibly because it didn’t include a big red nose, giant shoes, a flower that squirts water and a hand buzzer.
So, below you shall find my original story, followed by a story I wrote about the email I got from the pissed-off clown, with my reaction included. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. Read on . . .
A CLOWN SHORTAGE IS LOOMING IN OUR COUNTRY AND I COULDN’T BE HAPPIER
So I heard on TV recently that there is soon to be a clown shortage in our country. To the Ronald McDonald’s of the world, this may constitute a national emergency.
To me? A reason to rejoice.
Anyway, my crack staff here at Shoe: Untied researched it, and it’s sho’nuff true. Here’s the story:
The U.S.’s clown shortage is no laughing matter.
Love the last paragraph:
International competition may also be a factor. “There’s a lot of clowns coming out of China who will work for really cheap,” Seal added.
Nothing worse than a cheap Chinese clown, amirite?
So here’s my thing with clowns – I hate ’em. Something about the way they look and the way they hide behind their creepy clown face-paint. Did you know infamous serial killer John Wayne Gacy was a part-time clown?
And I read that article, and the fact that there’s a World Clown Association is absolutely horrifying. The thought of hundreds of these bozos meeting on a regular basis gives me chills.
But am I biased, you ask? Has my clown attitude somehow been tainted? It has.
Let me tell you a quick story . . .
Years ago I went to a coaches clinic at a big hotel in Columbus. It just so happens that there were two other groups having conventions at the same hotel that weekend – Mary Kay Cosmetics reps and clowns.
Think about it. Three large groups at the same hotel, hanging in the lobby, going to the bar, wandering the hallways. These groups were coaches, clowns and Mary Kay reps. And yes, it was as freaky as it sounds.
And do you know who was the nastiest, drunkest, meanest group of the three?
Clowns, and it wasn’t even close.
They’d pull up to the lobby in a little car, sixteen of them would roll out stinking drunk, staggering around, dropping their pants and squirting God knows what into people’s faces. It was just awful. There were several fights, almost always started by the clowns. They harassed the Mary Kay women, got thrown out of the bar, mooned people in elevators, and bitched and moaned at the reception desk about prices and room service.
Clowns are nasty.
Believe me, when coaches are the voice of virtue and reason at an out-of-town conference, you are officially in Bizarro World.
Note: The clowns had one of those big conference rooms where they sold clown stuff, and it was incredible. You had to have some sort of official clown card so I couldn’t get in, but what I caught glimpses of was awesome. You could buy giant clown shoes, flowers that squirted water, red noses, fright wigs, those joy buzzers you shock people with, everything a clown could ever want. I know, weird. I hate clowns but I’d love to have the clown paraphernalia.
WELL, HELL, NOW I HAVE AN ANGRY CLOWN ON MY HANDS
Now I’ve gone and done it. I’ve pissed off a clown. Yesterday I wrote about my hatred of clowns and late last night I got a response. Apparently the writer of the email is a lifelong clown who took offense to my opinion and felt the need shoot me an angry missive.
In the spirit of fairness I shall now print, word for word, the angry clown’s email. My response follows. Enjoy:
Dear Shoe: Untied,
I read with much consternation your blog and your opinion of clowns. I have been a clown for 37 years, and I can assure you I have never been drunk on the job, dropped my pants inappropriately, insulted a woman, complained to a hotel receptionist, nor been in a fight.
I come from a long line of clowns. My grandfather was a clown, my father was a clown, and my mother was a clown. I hope my son becomes a clown.
Our purpose as clowns is simple – to make people laugh. Obviously you don’t find clowns funny but I can assure you that many people do.
Finally, your comparison of clowns to serial killers is ignorant and mean spirited. And you should know that there are some clowns you don’t want to anger. Remember that.
Whoa, back up there a second, Mr. Clown.
That sure took a dark turn. The angry clown was objecting to my blog in such a polite and respectful way, and then I’m pretty sure I was threatened there at the end.
But I gotta tell you, as I was reading this I couldn’t stop laughing.
I mean, has there ever been anything written that is funnier than “I come from a long line of clowns. My grandfather was a clown, my father was a clown, and my mother was a clown. I hope my son becomes a clown“? That cracks me up because it’s hilarious and sort of sad at the same time.
And is there an appropriate way to drop your pants? I’m dyin’ over here.
And isn’t it kind of fitting that I got the email at 2:30 in the morning? Can’t you just picture some poor 51-year old clown, still in make-up, sitting at a computer in his mom’s basement having just returned from a 189-mile trip (one way) to entertain a group of 7-year olds at a birthday party in upstate New Jersey? Can’t you just see the sad clown reading my blog, shaking his head, pounding his keyboard and firing off a response? I bet he even ripped his nose off and threw it in the corner in a fit of clown rage.
I swear, the only thing that would have made the email better is if he’d signed it with his clown name. How awesome would it have been if he had concluded with, “Sincerely, Bonkers the Clown”?
God, that would have been epic.
To conclude, let it be known to all that I may soon be attacked by an angry clown. Yes, a clown attack may be imminent. So, attention all residents of western Ross County! Be on the lookout for a man with orange hair, size 27 shoes and a bright red bulbous nose. He has also been seen traveling with a dog, which is made from balloons. If you see this man do not approach him, as he may be armed with seltzer water, a squirting flower and a large rubber hammer that squeaks upon impact.
I swear I’m in tears right now.
And the best part of all this? It’s the first time a clown has ever made me laugh.
Note: Does anyone else see the irony in the clown being upset about my serial killer line, then basically threatening me? Hilarity.