I’m putting a big fat disclaimer here before you step into my house of horrors—I do not condone the harassment of kids. If it were true, the story itself is sick and wrong. However…
I love clowns. Well, one clown in particular. I also have the sickest sense of humor of anyone you’ll come across. So I’d be remiss if I let all the recent clown excitement pass with nary a comment.
Clowns of the world, I’m cheering for you. For too long you have been feared and shunned and stereotyped and rejected and laughed at instead of laughed with. You try to bring joy into the world, and you’re met with hate. You even have coulrophobics who are clinically afraid of you. Well, now it’s finally your time to shine.
And shine you have! You have been the stars of the media circus for weeks now. One of you (or maybe it was a collective clown effort) decided for shits and giggles to reenact scenes from It and turn sleepy little Southern towns into the laughingstocks of the world. And it has been fan-fucking-tastic!
These stories about clowns terrorizing towns and luring children into the deep, dark woods are phenomenal. A+ comedy. The perfect buildup to Halloween season. The more the stories hit the media, the more excited I became.
Why are people losing their shit over a bunch of bozos?! Y’all—no one had ever actually seen the jokesters. No photos. No evidence. No abandoned red noses. If you were actually afraid of this, then the joke’s on you.
At worst, some poser-clowns (read: rednecks) are misbehaving and making this up. At best, some rogue clowns got sick and tired of the incessant bashing and decided to take matters into their own gloved hands. If we’re lucky, they’ll take over the country and one qualified clown will become president.
Or the Insane Clown Posse has been expanding their fanbase to outdoor lovers who camp in the forest in full face paint.
Or, what if we’re blowing this out of proportion? What if clowns really aren’t evil? What if this clan of clowns is only trying to set a new generation straight about what clowns really are? What if they were luring kids into the woods to tell them jokes and paint their faces? And once again, crotchety old adults afraid of horror movies are letting the wind out of their balloon animals. For shame.
You know somewhere deep in the Maine woods, Stephen King is rolling around laughing in a pile of dollar bills. Hell—he may even be the one out there posing as Pennywise.
It’s also a damn good time to be a journalist in those towns. “No Clowning Around.” Snicker. “Creepy Clown Reports Continue, and Clowns Are Not Happy.” Snort. Party hat’s off to you, silly ol’ clowns. These poor journalists need some belly laughs after reporting on Trump (an unqualified clown) and the other atrocities of the world.
“Ok Tanya, let’s get back to this clown you…love. What’s that all about?” Ok. Are you ready? Are you ready? No really, are you ready?
This is Kian. He is mine. My grandma gave him to me as a baby, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. He is my thing. My lovie. I love him more than anything or anyone in the entire world. I sleep clutching him every single night. Yes, I’m almost 30. Tease me and I’ll knife you. Or more likely, Kian will get you. He looks like the type, doesn’t he?
I had always kept Kian a secret. I mean, just look at him. But the older I get and the fewer fucks I give, I’m happier to share him with the world. And what better time than now?
So while the rest of the world is all “OHMYGOD scary clowns! Help!,” Kian and I are sitting back, giggling, and rereading It.
Who has the last laugh now?