I hate clowns! Hate is a strong word and in this case it fits.
I hate them, let me count the ways.
The “friendly” clown. I don’t want to be your friend. Your red bulbous nose intimates one too many drinks on the job.
The “sad” clown. I don’t want you brought in here or anywhere I may be. You are harshing my groove. Get on meds. Get a therapist. Just plain get.
The “baby” clown. Grow the “f” up already.
The “horny” clown. I despise the sound of a bike horn and it’s all because of you.
The “poltergeist” clown. I stored crap under my bed for years in an effort to make your springing out from under there more complicated.
The “pennywise” clown. I hate you most of all. I still don’t walk on manhole covers because of you. Also never trust a clown with a closed mouth smile. You never know what kind of freak might be going on in there.
Last year stubby hubs hunk dressed as a clown for Halloween. Knowing full well my feelings on the subject. He kept creeping all night long. He was bruised the next day. Clowns make me angry. They make me want to get my beat on. They make me roll my sleeves up. Take my earrings out. And get my ghetto on. I hate clowns. They serve no meaningful purpose but to ruin my day.
Today. In my hometown. In the area where I will be working.
I hate clowns