Clowns

Just let them laugh at us, the clowns. I caught one by his big floppy ears the other day, tampering with my car. Planting some kind of rotting fruit bomb. He grabbed my hand in a shocking handshake on me and ran away laughing. I checked to see if everything was fine-- the Jews for Jesus fliers were still in the backseat, along with the signs for the abortion clinic.

Clowns. All that make-up and the dancing. We'll show them. We will squash them with our seriousness of purpose. We'll teach them to laugh and point at us as we carry our signs. We'll put the fear of the Lord into them.

I tried to run over a couple of clowns as they crossed the street, just to do my part. One of them threw a bag of feathers in the car. I almost ran into a mailbox as they flew around wildly in front of my face. As you can imagine, that only made me madder. I would have to bag at least one clown before the AntiOrgasm League meeting.

As luck would have it, I found a very tired clown at a bus stop. He didn't even look up to try to tag me with his spudgun. I managed to clip him and flip him over the hood of the car. I didn't check to see if he was dead, but rushed on, almost laughing as I watched him flip onto the pavement behind me. And that was just what they wanted us to do. That was their weapon.

What was it that almost made me slip? Was it the way his suit billowed out as he flew? Or the big, floppy shoes splayed out in the air? Was it the way he was still smiling, even through the pain?

In my panic, an idea crossed my mind before I could squash it. Clowns could be the real martyrs. If Jesus were alive today, would he be a clown?