Lactose the Intolerant penned this in 2013. — The Editors
Watching all those clowns in Washington really got me thinking. I wonder what it would be like to date a clown? Turns out there is a website for that, so I tried it out. And it also turns out that there are some pros and cons to clown dating, such as these:
- When you go on a quintuple date, you only need one car
- You don’t need to pay extra for her to wear the greasepaint and orange wigs anymore
- It’s easy to judge your performance based upon the rapidity of the horn honking. No wait, they can fake that too. Nevermind
- You need to be sure to make love with the lights out because otherwise anything that resembles a balloon will be painfully twisted into a puppy. On a related note, you must be sure to hide all your condoms
- She’s overjoyed when you gift her with a ring pop and a plastic necklace from those 25c plastic egg machines
- When the traffic cop discovers the trussed teenage boys in the trunk, you’re not the primary suspect this time
- It can be a little disconcerting when you discover that her implants are really squeak toys
- And it can be more disconcerting to discover that the carpet matches the drapes right down to the little bowler hat
- They’re a cheap date. Even with a tie, most high end places won’t seat them
- When you want to spice things up by bringing in a midget, there are 3 or 4 she already knows and trusts
- The tears of a clown are actually really awesome. They make you really high. And acquiring them is guilt-free. Clowns don’t really have feelings
- The only rings she really cares about are the three under the big tent
I once briefly dated the niece of a clown. Does that count? I don’t know if it was her clown proximity but I realized (perhaps too late) that I had made a mistake.
Until you asked that, I had completely forgotten that an otherwise normalish woman told me on our first date that she had worked as a clown. She never brought it up again, nor did I, and it was never a topic of conversation again. But, yeah, I guess that makes me part of a vanishing demographic.
I tried to join the Clown Dating site with the user name Adam Schiff. It said that account already existed…
Try Adam Schiff2020.
This is just…just…not what I was ready for this morning.
If you think you need a bottle brush for your brain, then try this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eq1m2s3rzE
Thanks. That brought a calming note. Like in those episodes of the Andy Griffith Show where they just stop and have a musical interlude.
Il y a pas de quoi.
If you’re going to class this place up, we’re going to have to up our game.
Class this place up? Why sirrah I must protest! You are my friends in low places. Where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases the blues away!
Curses! I used “Sirrah” in a post that will appear on Thanksgiving day, and now it will appear stale and derivative. I, sir, throw down the white glove. And scurry away. Poltroon.
Poltroon? Such cheek! You upstart! Scurry away you scurrilous cad! I shan’t abide your visage for a moment longer. My seconds will soon be calling and we shall settle this like gentlemen, or at least I will. Shall we say pistols at dawn?
We can say what we like; to do is something else. In the words of the immortal bard,
“To expostulate
What majesty should be, what duty is,
Why day is day, night night, and time is time,
Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.”
That you are mad, ’tis true: ’tis true ’tis pity; and pity ’tis ’tis true.
{scurries further away, throwing other glove.}
You’ve gone Shakespearean, never go full Shakespeare.
Mark Twain:
“I don’t like Tillman. His second cousin killed an editor, three years ago, without giving that editor a chance to defend himself. I recognize that it is almost always wise, and is often in a manner necessary, to kill an editor, but I think that when a man is a United States Senator he ought to require his second cousin to refrain as long as he can.”
Twain continued:
“There wasn’t enough of what Shakespeare had done to make an editorial of the necessary length, but I filled it out with what he hadn’t done—which in many respects was more important and striking and readable than the handsomest things he had really accomplished.
“But next day I was in trouble again. There were no more Shakespeares to work up. There was nothing in past history, or in the world’s future possibilities, to make an editorial out of, suitable to that community; so there was but one theme left. That theme was Mr. Laird, proprietor of the Virginia Union. His editor had gone off to San Francisco too, and Laird was trying his hand at editing.
“I woke up Mr. Laird with some courtesies of the kind that were fashionable among newspaper editors in that region, and he came back at me the next day in a most vitriolic way. He was hurt by something I had said about him—some little thing—I don’t remember what it was now—probably called him a horse-thief, or one of those little phrases customarily used to describe another editor. They were no doubt just, and accurate, but Laird was a very sensitive creature, and he didn’t like it.”
Calming; sure if you’re talking about Andy picking the guitar in the living room; but if it were the Darlings, then that’s a full-blown ruckus!
Blowing on the jug while they play “Ol’ Dan Tucker” — it doesn’t get better than that!
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spIhx5m8CPk&w=560&h=315%5D
Never heard that before.
(For those of you reluctant to click, it is NOT about any inappropriate relationship with Opie.)
Good music, decent graphics.
BR5-49 a very undervalued country band. Saw them many times, they even opened for Bob Dylan on one tour.