Written by PaulBronstien.
I hate clowns. Always have. They're supposed to make you laugh, and bring joy to our lives. But in reality, they just creep you the fuck out right? Sorry if you're reading this and you're a party clown. I'm sure you're very skilled at your profession, but I don't think we will ever get along. And should we ever meet, I will not be the most pleasant person towards you. My bad.
My utter hatred for clowns began when I was very young. My mom and dad were separated, and my mom got me in a long and arduous custody battle when I was about three years old. I don't know how she did it. She worked for a carnival and barely made above minimum wage. Anyway, my mom dated this guy named Eli. He was a horrible human being. He began his morning by snorting a couple of lines of cocaine, and then it was off to work as the carnival's head clown. He would come home, drink himself into a stupor, and the I would watch from my room in pajamas as he would savagely beat and rape my mother in his dirty, sweaty, clown suit. His painted face contorted in a painful grin. Sometimes he would feel bad about abusing my mom and come into my room. He would sit in my chair and watch me with his beady little clown eyes. I could feel his hot, alcohol-tainted breath on my face, but I just ignored him. Even when he started crying, and telling me how sorry he was, I ignored him. When I was six, good old Eli shot my mom, and then walked into my room, and killed himself. Tragic. I then wandered the streets for a couple of hours looking for my dad. CPS picked me up, and soon I was back with my dad.
The only problem was he lived across the street from Randy. Randy was a pedophile. And you guessed it, a clown. Everyday, I would walk home from school, and have to pass by Randy, who was sitting in a rusty lawn chair, drinking beer, and singing "Lady Blue" by Leon Russell. One day, , he came to my house dressed in full clown regalia, and asked when my birthday was. My dad was away at work, and I was alone. Randy saw this as an opportunity to promote his business. I didn't let him in, but he said he knew I was in there, and he wasn't leaving until he blew me a balloon, and told me his funny jokes. I watched upstairs from my window as he stood there, awaiting with bated breath, hoping that I would open the door. I watched his grin slowly turn into a frown, as he grew impatient. He then started banging on my door, and yelled at me to come out. I looked out my window, and our eyes met. I told him that I hated clowns. He then snarled in a rage, and then started scaling my house. He climbed up to my window, and laughed maniacally. His make-up was smeared, and his hair was mangy. When he tried to open my window with his over-sized gloves, his face contorted in that same little stupid grin that I was used to. And then my dad rolled in. Randy stopped and looked down at my dad. My dad calmly looked up at Randy, and rubbed his chin. Randy should have ran right then and there. But he made the wrong decision. He tried to explain himself. My dad just smiled and said that I didn't like clowns. And neither did he. My dad then grabbed Randy's hair and then viciously started slamming Randy's ugly clown face onto the hood of his truck. I think that was the only happy moment of my childhood. Watching Randy cry as my dad made a clown face imprint on his truck. Randy stayed away from me from then on. But he always watched. And he always grinned when he saw me.
When I moved off to college, I vowed to never see a clown again. Yeah that didn't happen. My dreams were always plagued with a myriad of clowns. And I always woke up sweating. I couldn't get away from them. Everywhere I went, I would see Eli sitting behind me in class, or Randy siting at the bar at my favorite watering hole. I had the best girlfriend ever. I almost proposed to her, until I found out her dad was a clown. Sorry Nancy. After I graduated, I became a psychiatrist. I wanted to help people with problems that were similar to mine, during my childhood. Everything was going great. Until I Jody walked through my door. Guess what. He was a clown. I tried to get over it. I tried to work with him. But when I looked at him, all I saw was Eli, or Randy. And the rage inside my belly burned bright. It was worse when he cried. It wasn't even a normal cry. Or a quiet one. It was over-the-top. It almost sounded like laughter. Jody would cry and cry over his mom who died or some shit. Everyday. And I didn't care. He was a clown. Clowns don't deserve sympathy.
So one day, I made the crying stop.
And I have never felt better.