Tagged: clown

“Hurry It Up”

  • by Kent“Is this *really* what I want to be famous for on the internet?”
  • returned my salute
  • a language that literally no one
  • Does he? Who knows
  • aspiring avant garde DJ

Tune in next time part 862      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Hurry it up,” Titania growled. “That trove of bananas will be no good after tomorrow.”

“It has to look convincing,” BimBam grumbled in reply. Then, “Huh. That’s odd.”

Please don’t be the ears. Please please don’t be the ears. Please please please don’t be the ears!

“Here, use this,” Titania declared, yanking the tail off the horse costume. “Cover his head with a bushy wig, and no one will notice if the face is a little amateurish.”

“Hey! I am in fact a professional,” BimBam protested. “I got my start with a video channel where I dissected fan theories about Lost while I transformed myself from one kind of clown to another. But one day I had to ask myself that question.”

For several seconds there was no sound other than that of greasepaint being slathered on Big Dennis’s face. The hole where the horse’s tail used to be let in a welcome draft of fresh air.

“What question?” Titania asked wearily.

“Is this really what I want to be famous for on the internet?”

“You’ll be famous for making a disgusting crater underneath this airship if you delay me further!” the Crystal Clown roared. “I thought you Svenborgians were sticklers for protocol, yet you still haven’t returned my salute!”

“Bah. Protocol means nothing. Knock-knock jokes have protocol. I’m a rebel, striking terror in a language that literally no one can comprehend: the language of clowns! I sometimes wonder if you are truly a clown yourself.”

“Leave the philosophy to the university clowns, BimBam. Perhaps the unconscious man you’re tending to feels his inner clown awakening now, as his true face comes into being. Does he? Who knows. And who cares! We need those bananas.”

From what I recalled about Big Dennis, I thought it more probable that his new getup would trigger his inner aspiring avant garde DJ to wake up. I just hoped that he wouldn’t literally wake up anytime soon.

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Such Close Proximity

  • by jenEmbroider otters on all
  • sucking gleefully our respective oranges
  • slowly and most wickedly
  • (please ignore the ears)
  • who am I to dispute the research of the National Confectioners Association?

Tune in next time part 861      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Such close proximity to Small Dennis’s sweaty naked butt made my eyes water. Back at the Academy, he’d joined my twin brother Jason in founding an experimental boy band. They’d been inexplicably popular, and soon one would hear Embroider Otters on all the school’s pirate radio stations. There was a choreographed dance for their biggest hit “We Be Sucking Gleefully Our Respective Orangesicles” in which they moved their limbs slowly and most wickedly, and I shuddered to imagine what it would be like if Small Dennis did that very dance here, right now, inside our shared horse costume.

I tried to bring my thoughts back to the idea of exploiting the clowns’ fear of lumberjacks to gain the upper hand, escape my predicament, and foil their nefarious banana-thieving plans.

Titania chuckled evilly and said, “The easiest way to get him off the airship is to paint him like a clown.”

“I’ll get right on it,” BimBam said.

I relaxed a little. If BimBam was the one to apply clown makeup to Big Dennis, that would delay the discovery that he was not me. That is, as long as he didn’t try to apply any makeup to Big Dennis’s ears (please ignore the ears). My ears are quite distinctively small (please please ignore the ears) and the difference would surely give away my ruse (please please please ignore the ears). Tessa once told me about a study she’d seen that claimed most people’s ears are larger than Peanut Butter Cups. That sounds unlikely to me, but who am I to dispute the research of the National Confectioners Association? (In any case, please please please ignore Big Dennis’s ears!)

I held my breath and listened to the squealchy sounds of an evil clown applying greasepaint to an unconscious man’s face. Would BimBam ignore the ears?

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The Atmosphere Inside the Horse Costume

  • by Kentusing our peripheral vision
  • little aliens in my earwax
  • rampant lumber-jack-o-phobia
  • green motorcycle goggles covered his eyes
  • given to mild theatrics

Tune in next time part 860      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The atmosphere inside the horse costume was becoming tense and swampy, as both Small Dennis and myself stood in the presence of clowns both Crystal and Iron and absorbed the diabolical vibrations of their laughter. I knew Small Dennis was about to crack, but owing to the constraints of the costume we could only communicate by using our peripheral vision. I gave up trying to calm him and concentrated on my own dilemmas. Time was running out before the ruse with Big Dennis would be discovered, and it was hard to concentrate when every utterance from BimBam or Titania seemed to awaken little aliens in my earwax.

Suddenly, BimBam declared, “But that’s where they do all the logging!” And I dared a small smile, because I realized that the airship’s course would create an opportunity to use the rampant lumber-jack-o-phobia among clowns to my advantage. I even risked a peek through the seam between the front and back halves of the horse, and there beyond Titania’s shapely shin I beheld the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. His flaking greasepaint had all the ochre hues of a corroded shipping container, and his hair stood in a venomous pink mohawk. Black fangs protruded from his leering lips and green motorcycle goggles covered his eyes.

The urgency of Small Dennis’s plight fully registered then. He’d been subjected to this visage all along, through the horse suit’s eyeholes. Based on the fact that he worked pantsless, I had to assume that he was given to mild theatrics even under normal conditions.

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The Iron Clown’s Laughter

  • by jenmy teeth start tingling
  • Whenever I eat grapes near her
  • skyrocketing banana demand
  • Blink once if
  • wrote “I love you” in his own blood

Tune in next time part 859      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Iron Clown’s laughter reverberated through me and made my teeth start tingling. I clamped my jaw tightly shut to make it stop, but it did little good. The tingle intensified. (Whenever I eat grapes near her, my wife gets incredibly horny, something she also describes as an intensifying tingle. I can only assume the two sensations are not actually very similar.)

Titania said, “Once we empty this airship’s larders, our faction’s skyrocketing banana demands will be met at last. Blink once if you’re as excited as I am.”

Whether BimBam blinked or wrote “I love you” in his own blood, I could not tell because my head was still swaddled in the horse costume, but Titania seemed pleased.

“Without their favorite yellow snack, all the children aboard will be quite upset,” BimBam said with smug glee.

“All of them but mine,” Titania agreed. “I’ll bring mine along to our banana-filled paradise, their father as well.” I felt her pat Big Dennis’s butt. “I have further plans for him.”

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“Does It Really Matter How Dead He Is?”

  • by Kentknown to fancy folks as
  • superglue and duct tape
  • and (occasionally) laudanum
  • laser-focused idiot
  • eat Sour Patch Kids as cereal

Tune in next time part 858      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Does it really matter how dead he is?” asked BimBam. “I don’t see how that matters to our plans.”

“Not to our plans, perhaps, but I have plans that don’t concern you. So mind your own business and tell me what you’ve learned.”

BimBam growled, but then said, “The airship’s outer hull is made of a material known to fancy folks as Ballooninium, but it’s just superglue and duct tape. The maintenance crew has a nine-hour rotation, and when they’re not on duty they overindulge in marshmallow peeps, Pop-Rocks, and (occasionally) laudanum. The chief engineer is a laser-focused idiot who likes to eat Sour Patch Kids as cereal.”

“And the cargo?”

Now the Iron Clown made a rumbling chuckle that I could feel in my bones.

“It’s right where you said it would be.”

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“He Might be Mostly Dead”

  • by jena necromancer’s take
  • in a neon-lit lab
  • gauge the reactions of actual spiders
  • by the way he’s gesturing
  • wrap your lips over your teeth

Tune in next time part 857      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“He might be mostly dead, or all dead,” BimBam said sagely. “There’s really no way to be sure without a necromancer’s take.”

“Unfortunately,” Titania said, “our necromancer is in a neon-lit lab, trying to gauge the reactions of actual spiders to the fake plastic kind. Since he’s half-mime, his assistants have to interpret the results by the way he’s gesturing, so it’s going to take a while.”

The idea of a clown-mime necromancer made me feel like it feels when you bite into something so sweet you wrap your lips over your teeth and whimper — but, like, all over.

I hoped the colorfully lit lab they were referring to wasn’t on board the airship.

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The Crystal Clown Dug her Heels into My Ribs

  • by jendon’t know if this is a valid seduction tactic
  • for the sole purpose of rubbing one’s tingly parts against
  • silly knees-bent running about
  • put the sponge in the oven
  • pretty new pink dress

Tune in next time part 855      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Crystal Clown dug her heels into my ribs and said, “Tallyho, Dennises!” I don’t know if this is a valid seduction tactic where she comes from, but I figure it must be. I can think of no reason to ride naked atop a faux-horse, save for the sole purpose of rubbing one’s tingly parts against the corduroy saddle and, presumably, turning everyone on. Nigel and the Dennis brothers must be made of tougher stuff than me, though, for not only was I not turned on, I was getting quite a cramp in my back from all the silly knees-bent running about she was making us do. The fact that I hadn’t managed to dislodge Big Dennis from my rump made it that much worse.

We gallumphed through more corridors, and finally came to a stop when an unfamiliar male voice hailed Titania. The man approached and jiggled Big Dennis. He spoke in with a thick, unidentifiable accent. “This is the one who put the sponge in the oven of my beloved Crystal Clown?”

Titania laughed — the most menacing thing I’d ever heard. “Bun, darling. Put a bun in my oven.” Her chuckle would curdle milk. “Two buns, actually.”

“With all those clothes on him, I can see why he appealed to you.”

“And I like your pretty new pink dress. It matches your hair and your nose perfectly.” She leaned over and I heard a sharp honk.

Oh no! I hoped I was wrong, but knew I probably wasn’t. The only clown I could think of who favored pink so heavily was the notorious BimBam Tickles, the Iron Clown of Svenborgia. What the hell was he doing on my wife’s airship?

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We Careened Through the Hallways of the Airship

  • by jenscreamed out loud the name of a specific fruit
  • a spectacularly alarming painting
  • dipped in poison
  • taste just like cotton candy at first
  • working that oddly lumpy, peculiar body

Tune in next time part 853      Click Here for Earlier Installments

We careened through the hallways of the airship, and each time we reached a corner, Titania screamed out loud the name of a specific fruit so that we would know which way to turn: mango for left, papaya for right. It was the old Fruitmonger’s Cipher, but with a tropical twist that had me wondering which organization she was working for.

“Lychee!” Titania cried, and we came to an abrupt stop. “That,” she continued as she dismounted, “is a spectacularly alarming painting.”

I knew which one she must mean: the coronation portrait of Fleur’s grandmother looked like it had been painted with a brush that was dipped in poison instead of paint. And that’s because, per Contrarian custom, it was. As a country they are overly concerned about enemies ingesting the Artwork of State, and so all coronation portraits are painted with poisons of various hues. To be sure of killing the rogue art-devourers, the poisons all taste just like cotton candy at first. Fleur’s grandmother’s portrait was especially ominous because of the toothmarks in the upper right corner.

While Titania contemplated the gruesome likeness of the equally gruesome warlord’s consort, I shimmied my rump in hopes of dislodging Big Dennis from my back. I was working that oddly lumpy, peculiar body of a horse costume like my life depended on it when I finally felt Big Dennis’s weight shift. I squatted halfway, hoping to drop him on his head hard enough to keep him unconscious, but not hard enough to draw the attention of the Crystal Clown.

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Accidentally on Purpose

  • by jenI don’t like nose stuff
  • leave her in the darkness
  • much-ballyhooed
  • swung my good right fist full upon the point of his jaw
  • Small Dennis was left extremely disappointed

Tune in next time part 851      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Accidentally on purpose I turned the knob on the soap dispenser instead of the shower. A river of lavender suds spurted out, and Titania and I both sneezed.

“Ugh” she cried. “I don’t like nose stuff! It’s a total turnoff!”

While she continued sneezing, I lurched toward the exit and flipped off the lights, intending to leave her in the darkness — the flowery darkness — while I found a place to write down the much-ballyhooed sauce recipe. Or as much of it as I could remember.

On my way through the bedroom I encountered two men attempting to don a horse costume. (Nigel’s replacement, presumably.) I remembered them from the Academy. They were step-brothers, and both were named Dennis. They bickered constantly over their shared name, and everything else. Why Titania thought it would be a good idea for them to share a single horse costume was beyond me. Right now they were bickering over who would be the creature’s head. I thought Big Dennis would be the better choice, but when he turned to me and snarled, I swung my good right fist full upon the point of his jaw and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Small Dennis was left extremely disappointed. “I wanted to punch him,” he pouted. “I never get to do anything fun.”

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You Probably Think I’m a Lucky Guy

  • by jenThere was one reason.
  • having sex with a woman while
  • watch your fat feet
  • every inch of wall space was covered with mirrors
  • hidden pasta sauce recipe

Tune in next time part 849      Click Here for Earlier Installments

You probably think I’m a lucky guy. You probably think that there was no reason I would resist Titania’s advances. But you would be wrong. There was one reason. Tessa. I may not be the brightest hammer in the operating theater, but even I knew that having sex with a woman while trying to reunite and have a meaningful relationship with her sister was a bad idea. I just had to figure out how to escape the Crystal Clown with both my monogamy and my life.

The many, many layers of clothes she’d forced me into were working in my favor, mostly. She was ferociously turned on, but I was decidedly not.

“Out of the bed!” she suddenly cried. “Into the bathroom! Now! Now! I want to watch your fat feet squish against the mirrors!”

I rolled off the bed and waddled into the en suite, where not only the floor and ceiling, but every inch of wall space was covered with mirrors. I’m sensitive about the girthiness of my feet, and seeing them reflected in an infinity of infinite regressions helped kill the mood even deader than my numerous layers.

Titania skipped in to stand beside me, bouncing on her bare feet. I tried to find somewhere to direct my eyes where I wouldn’t be staring at her jiggling breasts or my own pudgy feet, and noticed something unexpected. The Ronald McDonald tribute tattoo on her thigh, when reflected back upon itself innumerable times, revealed a hidden pasta sauce recipe. And not just any pasta sauce recipe. *The* pasta sauce recipe, the one that every secret organization in the world was searching for.

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