Clowns

I dislike clowns; I find them obnoxious. They’re always meddling in my affairs, toying around, honking horns and causing commotion. All of them should be atomized immediately, using a bombardment of plastic utensils. Make sure that none of them remain employed in their current position. Clowns are good for only one thing: to put to sleep. That’s my opinion. 

Let me be clear, there is no deeper meaning to my message.

First, let us define our terms. A clown denotes any guy who puts on makeup and wears a wig plus some oversized shoes and then goes out and acts silly. I think this is a bad idea.

Here’s an example. Say that a clown approaches me wearing a red nose and white face-paint. This man’s eyeshadow is gaudy, and he’s holding a huge horn in his hand. He’s squirting water from a flowery lapel pin and sporting a baggy bright polka-dot costume with shiny red shoes that keep clopping everywhere. Moreover, there’s a bright red smile painted over his mouth, to conceal the frown. The sight of this fellow just about scares the life out of me, causing me to spill my basket of french fries. “Where’s the exit,” I think to myself. Then I shout at my aggressor: “Stay back, fuckface, or I’ll shoot—I just called the cops, and they’re on the way.”