Trying to put the "this guy means sex" thought to rest was difficult, especially when he asked me to follow him to the back of the depot. "It's not for sex!", he repeatedly assured. With growing trepidation, I shuffled behind him, while still keeping my distance. The grass, brown and dead crunched beneath my feet. He lead me toward a dented, rust spotted dumpster that looked a week past it's emptying date. "Okay--", he said while turning to face me, "--here."
I looked at him for about 3 seconds, "What the fu--", then everything went dark.
I awoke sprawled on the floor with a headache, nausea and a desperate panic to check my rectum for unwanted visitations. I didn't find any. Then again, I've never been taken to "rim town" on the "tube steak express", so, I'm still not really sure. I did know that I wasn't wearing the same clothing. They were gaudy, loud colored and expensive in a hipster sort of way and by God...where the fuck were my underwear.
A door creaked open letting in light and revealing my surroundings to be that of a store room of some sort. Dusty boxes labeled "cotton candy supplies" and "cold cream" eased into the light in a sinister fashion. "What the fuck is going on here?", I yelped loudly to whomever was creaking that fucking door, "And stop creaking that fucking door!". Sorry, my head still hurt...hang over style.
"Gosh, I'm sorry, Mister--uh..", a man wearing full clown garb said. His blue hair, two sprigs lacing a rubber bald cap, red and blue striped pants, an over-sized dicky bearing a polka dot bow tie accented a coat comically too small for him. His white grease painted face and huge red nose grew as he bent to look in my face.
"Elton, my name is Elton, who in the fuck are you?"
"Golly, you curse a lot. My name is Melvin. Melvin the Merry!"
I looked at him in puzzlement and responded, "Outta my, weird motherfucker.", and dashed to the door as quick as my contusion afflicted brain could carry me. I didn't make it far. My brain scolded my efforts with anguish fueled throbbing as Melvin hurriedly blocked the door. I bounced off of his clown body and met the floor a second time. It was then that I noticed the full breadth of what I was wearing, "Holy, shit in a hat! What the fuck am I wearing?".
I too was wearing striped pants, yellow and black, like a retarded bumble bee. I checked my face and it was smeared in grease paint. My shirt was the anomaly in my already freakish get-up. "Dicks are for Chicks?", I inquired.
"It was the only thing I could find in your size. My last speaker ruined my special speaker suit. I had to improvise.", the crazy clown answered, "I'm sorry, Impy Elto, you can't leave right now."
"Who the fuck is Impy Elto?", I questioned while slowly standing, my brain still protesting.
"That's yer clown name, silly!", the maniacal clown said while erupting in garish laughter.
"What in the shit is wrong with you? You can't keep me here. It's illegal. Clowns don't break the law, they...squirt shit--seltzer, they squirt seltzer and scare kids, they don't kidnap."
"I'm a different kinda clown."
"Well, fuck you and your difference, I need to get the fuck out of here."
"To break Wilt Chamberlain's record? I know, I heard, the hobo that sold you to me told me. He was a nice man."
"FUCK WILT CHAMBERLAIN! I need to get the hell out of here because YOU'RE here, you nutty clown fuck. I don't want to be near a crazy fucker in clown shit. I need to be near other people in regular shit faaaarrrr the fuck away from here.", I made my way to the door. Melvin stepped in front of it.
"I'm afraid that can't happen, Impy. You have a job to do!", he said while doing a dance and honking his nose horn, "You're the big speaker at the convention."
"What in the happy horse dick are you talking about?"
"'The Annual Festival of Beleaguered Clownsmen Family Fundraiser Blood Rally for Satan', of course."
"I'd be fear shitting right now, if I wasn't beyond the capacity for terror. I think I've reached a whole new level of scared. Like,...slowly falling into a sun made of broken glass shaped dicks...with teeth."
"I...don't know...what that means, but, your speech is up next, so, you'd better get ready. Plus, you'll the blood sacrifice we eat afterward, so, you might want to shave.", Melvin the wonder weirdo said as he exited, bolting the door on the other side.
My mind raced, as I frantically searched for a way out. I flipped over boxes, kicked at the door, finally spinning in circles until I was dizzy. I was lost and hopeless. I couldn't help but think that of all things I should be wishing for...I wanted Wilt Chamberlain dug up and shit on.
I resigned myself to my fate and thought about what a waste my life had been. I cried. Then, the door opened and my tormentor wrested me from the floor. "Come on, silly billy. The crowd's awaitin'", he said, while guffawing in a way that made me vomit in my mouth a little. He walked me out of the store room around a corner and up a small set of stairs. I was on a stage, flush with lights glaring in my face. I could see hardly more than silhouettes. "Just read what's on the cards and you'll be fine.", he whispered while grabbing the mic to introduce me, "Ladies and gents, our sacrifice for the evening, Impy Elto would like to say a few words. Impy?", he shoved me toward the podium and disappeared down the stairs into the crowd.
My brain hurt and I strained my eyes against the lights. I looked down at a set of note cards scrawled over with what looked like crayon writing. I strained to read them for a moment then gave up. If I was going out...it would be dicking with clowns.
"Hello, you weird mother fuckers.", I started, "You're a twisted bunch of bat shit crazy weirdos and I'd love to see you ass fucked with broken bottles. That is...except the pretty ones...they can get fucked twice!", I wretched the mic from it's stand, pulling the cord in the process, which in turn began to topple the crowd. They were cardboard. "Hoooly shit.", I said while observing a shadowy figure racing toward the stage. It was Melvin in a panic.
Thinking quickly, I waited until he was in range and whacked him fully in the eye with the microphone. He took it bluntly and stopped. "What the hell did you do that for?", which I replied to with a swift kick to his clown genitals. He dropped like the heavy sack of freak that he was. I stepped on his face while I ran for the glowing outline of a door. Throwing my shoulder into it, I opened it with an explosion of pain. I was outside. What I had been in was a garage and what awaited me outside was what I later learned was Melvin's mother, putting trash into a trash can.
"Who the hell are you?", she asked, appropriately startled. I responded with a swift kick to her genitals. He too dropped like a hot bag of granny freak.
The rest of what happened is pretty run of the mill. I ran to a neighbor of the freak, used a phone, called the cops, blah, blah, blah. The main thing I learned is this. If you want to advertise a blog...don't attempt to break a record you have no business breaking. It's easier to just buy an ad in a paper or something.
I awoke sprawled on the floor with a headache, nausea and a desperate panic to check my rectum for unwanted visitations. I didn't find any. Then again, I've never been taken to "rim town" on the "tube steak express", so, I'm still not really sure. I did know that I wasn't wearing the same clothing. They were gaudy, loud colored and expensive in a hipster sort of way and by God...where the fuck were my underwear.
Like this...but, less hip
A door creaked open letting in light and revealing my surroundings to be that of a store room of some sort. Dusty boxes labeled "cotton candy supplies" and "cold cream" eased into the light in a sinister fashion. "What the fuck is going on here?", I yelped loudly to whomever was creaking that fucking door, "And stop creaking that fucking door!". Sorry, my head still hurt...hang over style.
"Gosh, I'm sorry, Mister--uh..", a man wearing full clown garb said. His blue hair, two sprigs lacing a rubber bald cap, red and blue striped pants, an over-sized dicky bearing a polka dot bow tie accented a coat comically too small for him. His white grease painted face and huge red nose grew as he bent to look in my face.
Like this...but, with better teeth.
"Elton, my name is Elton, who in the fuck are you?"
"Golly, you curse a lot. My name is Melvin. Melvin the Merry!"
I looked at him in puzzlement and responded, "Outta my, weird motherfucker.", and dashed to the door as quick as my contusion afflicted brain could carry me. I didn't make it far. My brain scolded my efforts with anguish fueled throbbing as Melvin hurriedly blocked the door. I bounced off of his clown body and met the floor a second time. It was then that I noticed the full breadth of what I was wearing, "Holy, shit in a hat! What the fuck am I wearing?".
I too was wearing striped pants, yellow and black, like a retarded bumble bee. I checked my face and it was smeared in grease paint. My shirt was the anomaly in my already freakish get-up. "Dicks are for Chicks?", I inquired.
"It was the only thing I could find in your size. My last speaker ruined my special speaker suit. I had to improvise.", the crazy clown answered, "I'm sorry, Impy Elto, you can't leave right now."
"Who the fuck is Impy Elto?", I questioned while slowly standing, my brain still protesting.
"That's yer clown name, silly!", the maniacal clown said while erupting in garish laughter.
Pants...officially shit in.
"What in the shit is wrong with you? You can't keep me here. It's illegal. Clowns don't break the law, they...squirt shit--seltzer, they squirt seltzer and scare kids, they don't kidnap."
"I'm a different kinda clown."
"Well, fuck you and your difference, I need to get the fuck out of here."
"To break Wilt Chamberlain's record? I know, I heard, the hobo that sold you to me told me. He was a nice man."
"FUCK WILT CHAMBERLAIN! I need to get the hell out of here because YOU'RE here, you nutty clown fuck. I don't want to be near a crazy fucker in clown shit. I need to be near other people in regular shit faaaarrrr the fuck away from here.", I made my way to the door. Melvin stepped in front of it.
Nooo leavin' for you, nope, nope!
"I'm afraid that can't happen, Impy. You have a job to do!", he said while doing a dance and honking his nose horn, "You're the big speaker at the convention."
"What in the happy horse dick are you talking about?"
"'The Annual Festival of Beleaguered Clownsmen Family Fundraiser Blood Rally for Satan', of course."
"I'd be fear shitting right now, if I wasn't beyond the capacity for terror. I think I've reached a whole new level of scared. Like,...slowly falling into a sun made of broken glass shaped dicks...with teeth."
"I...don't know...what that means, but, your speech is up next, so, you'd better get ready. Plus, you'll the blood sacrifice we eat afterward, so, you might want to shave.", Melvin the wonder weirdo said as he exited, bolting the door on the other side.
My mind raced, as I frantically searched for a way out. I flipped over boxes, kicked at the door, finally spinning in circles until I was dizzy. I was lost and hopeless. I couldn't help but think that of all things I should be wishing for...I wanted Wilt Chamberlain dug up and shit on.
Google just delivered the most awesome picture in existence.
I resigned myself to my fate and thought about what a waste my life had been. I cried. Then, the door opened and my tormentor wrested me from the floor. "Come on, silly billy. The crowd's awaitin'", he said, while guffawing in a way that made me vomit in my mouth a little. He walked me out of the store room around a corner and up a small set of stairs. I was on a stage, flush with lights glaring in my face. I could see hardly more than silhouettes. "Just read what's on the cards and you'll be fine.", he whispered while grabbing the mic to introduce me, "Ladies and gents, our sacrifice for the evening, Impy Elto would like to say a few words. Impy?", he shoved me toward the podium and disappeared down the stairs into the crowd.
My brain hurt and I strained my eyes against the lights. I looked down at a set of note cards scrawled over with what looked like crayon writing. I strained to read them for a moment then gave up. If I was going out...it would be dicking with clowns.
"Hello, you weird mother fuckers.", I started, "You're a twisted bunch of bat shit crazy weirdos and I'd love to see you ass fucked with broken bottles. That is...except the pretty ones...they can get fucked twice!", I wretched the mic from it's stand, pulling the cord in the process, which in turn began to topple the crowd. They were cardboard. "Hoooly shit.", I said while observing a shadowy figure racing toward the stage. It was Melvin in a panic.
Thinking quickly, I waited until he was in range and whacked him fully in the eye with the microphone. He took it bluntly and stopped. "What the hell did you do that for?", which I replied to with a swift kick to his clown genitals. He dropped like the heavy sack of freak that he was. I stepped on his face while I ran for the glowing outline of a door. Throwing my shoulder into it, I opened it with an explosion of pain. I was outside. What I had been in was a garage and what awaited me outside was what I later learned was Melvin's mother, putting trash into a trash can.
"Who the hell are you?", she asked, appropriately startled. I responded with a swift kick to her genitals. He too dropped like a hot bag of granny freak.
Pussy...kicked in. Boom.
The rest of what happened is pretty run of the mill. I ran to a neighbor of the freak, used a phone, called the cops, blah, blah, blah. The main thing I learned is this. If you want to advertise a blog...don't attempt to break a record you have no business breaking. It's easier to just buy an ad in a paper or something.
