sad clown story excerpt

Walking out of Taco Bell towards the sun-baked parking lot, Gilbert aka Giggles the Magnificent came to the sudden and very uncomfortable conclusion that the shit had come back to bite him. Not the shit he had just taken – that (as far as Taco Bell shits go) had been rather pleasant. A swift exit, minimal wiping, had even given him enough time to fix some inconsistencies in his powder base and rouge lip liner in the mirror before the rhino-ankled fellow in the other stall squeezed out enough toilet children to make room for the most meager soft taco, let alone the multiple Beefy 7-Layer Burritos a man of his impressive girth would undoubtedly crave.

No, these feces were metaphorical, but stunk no less than partially digested Mexican fare from the gut of a type-2 diabetic.

The police (or maybe a concerned diner) had taken the girls, their hair and exposed breasts smeared with white and red face paint, from his car and laid them shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the adjacent parking spot. An officer was recording them with a camcorder while another dusted the passenger-side door of Gilbert’s neon-yellow and ground-beef-pink hatchback with a forensic brush, under the decal that said CLOWNING AROUND HOME CIRCUS, LLC in a curly-cue sans serif. Gilbert stood frozen, deciding whether to retreat back to the bathroom or make a break for the costume shop at the other end of the strip mall, when he noticed the terror-stricken expression of a little boy staring up at him a few feet away, clutching an Incredible Hulk blanket.

This naked, eye-bulging terror Gilbert knew all too well.

“Mo-mo-mommy…” the kid started to blubber. Automatic reflex, Gilbert reached into his pocket and squeezed the water bulb connected via hidden tube to the silk flower attached to his blue and green polka-dotted collar. The flower unleashed a formidable spray onto his face and he staggered back a little, gurgling for extra comedic effect. The kid’s fear appeared to increase and Gilbert realized in hindsight that the squirting flower trick – which was, in all likelihood, causing his lip liner to run down the entirety of his lower jaw, creating a look more cannibal-esque than child-friendly – was probably a bad idea.

“Hey little guy,” he whispered, “it’s only water. Nothing to worry about, see?” But it was too late. The kid screeched, “MOMMMMMMYYYYY!” at a decibel level that belied his stature and the kid’s mother, who’d been filming the crime scene with her phone, swiveled around, glaring, and when Gilbert tried to  demonstrate the flower’s harmlessness he accidentally squeezed his key fob, which caused the car alarm to activate and the cops to snap into defense mode, pistols drawn.

The girls’ bodies remained pale and rigid on the asphalt.