"A Street-Carnie Named Desire"

Much like the first time you were told to "Turn your head and cough, son" by that old janitor that doubled as the schools "Sports Injury Specialist" who, for some reason, smelled like a combination of Gin and Ben-Gay, few experiences are as creepy as meeting Carnies and Clowns for the first time. Now, I'm not saying that I'm afraid or scared of these people... they just creep me out. I have recently found out that most people either dislilke or outright hate clowns, with a veracity not seen in this world since "The Great Pygmy Purge" of 1732. Okay, so I made that up, but that doesn't change the fact that, if given free reign, people would gleefully string up clowns by their feet and hang them from trees to see if they can brush up their tee-ball skills by pretending that the clowns' head is a pinata with their Louisville Sluggers.

I'm not advocating violence against these noble people whose profession is the perfection of the necessary talents of scaring children and holding the Tilt-A-Whirls of the world together with band-aids and their own belts (when they're not using them to shoot up heroin, of course)... ahhh, who am I kidding? Of course I'm advocating violence! Who wouldn't?! Look, the reason that most of us don't like clowns is because these people paint their faces with grease paint to have the facade of happiness and glee on their faces, when you know that deep down they regret that they told their High School Career Counselor that this is what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives. I'm curious, do the companies that hire clowns out to parties have a screening process or anything? You know, a way to find out if whether they're hiring a trained mime versus hiring a serial killer with a fetish for wearing trench coats made out of human skin?

To me, clowns are just strange to look at... I feel like I'm playing Emil Skoda from "Law and Order: Special Victims Unit"; pondering at what point was this guy not hugged enough by his parents that he would be driven to the point that he feels the urge to entertain your little mouth-breathers with balloon animals? I'm sure there are people reading this right now that are thinking, "Man, Todd... you're an ass! Clowns aren't creepy... I've got a velvet painting of one in my kids room!" Yeah, and that's probably why your kid has night terrors and wets the bed. Maybe that's the reason for your kid's not wanting to go to bed, instead of his insistence on watching "Night Court" re-runs on TBS. And although Night Court was a great show, we all know it's not a valid reason for staying up late... not matter how much you like Richard Moll or Harry Anderson.

My Mom has a twisted sense of humor like me, but hers is the sense of humor refined by years of getting to torment her own children with what she knows they can't stand (I look forward to doing the same to my kids one day). For instance, knowing that I can't stand clowns, my Mom sent me a card for my 19th birthday while I was in the Navy with a clown on the cover wielding a mace and a Pith Helmet. And that's not all, boys and girls... she put a little rubber finger puppet of a clown in the package too! I thought it was funny as hell... but creepy at the same time. Thanks, Ma... and you wonder where my sense of humor comes from!

I guess when it comes down to it, clowns aren't all that strange when you think about it; the only difference between your average Joe and a clown is that a clown has his mask of happiness painted on, while you wear yours everyday without the benefit of grease paint. Maybe we're not all that different after all... but if anyone ever sees me making balloon animals and wearing a Ronald McDonald outfit... it's time for an intervention...

Have a good one, folks and remember: Life is only as funny as you allow it to be!