Clown Monologue

Saw this in the BRB. Way way off the diary track. Doesn't matter. Doing nothing is the bad boy, not breaking the study plan. And at least I'm doing some activities. I like this guy. I started where the BRB writers prompted us...

...‘Now for the application of big red lips. I see red I see red I see red mist. Show must go on. Show nothing to punters of the desperate state of my life. off with the funny man's face. Off his face. I'm a cliché, the sad clown. People actually expect clowns to be sad these days, not moronically happy like in the old days but crushingly, suicidal-sad. It's not a shock. It used to be a shock, the idea of the sad clown - the tears of a clown and all that. But now we're all tortured souls, weirdoes, and folk devils. Coco the clown came to our school when we were kids. We all loved him, I cried when he left; as he was driven out of our school gates a little bit of us all died. Our day became grey and glum and boring. Nowadays if I visit a school, half the buggers shit their pants. At one school a little girl had to be practically sedated after I offered her a balloon. Not quite the kind of response I was looking for. I was in the park the other day doing a little song and dance routine and a bunch of 15 year old chavs threatened to beat my head in. All very funny. There was a survey done recently asking adults between the ages of 25 and 45 what in the world they found most scary. No mention of the bogey man, or the serial killer, nothing about hairy monsters under beds or wicked witches that could turn up and transform you into a stinking toad. No ghosts woo-wooing you into a state of terror and turning your underwear into a sludge catcher. Oh no. Even the likes of death or illness didn't rate anywhere near the top. Do you know what was at the top? Clowns. People are statistically more afraid of clowns than anything else. Ain’t That Grand? We're paid, sometimes, and we're put on this planet to do this job. We put crap on our faces, wear stupid noses that people try and snatch off, wear these damn stupid shoes that people stamp on just in case I really am a freak with size 19 feet, and I shout ‘ouch!’ and ‘Oof!’ And then they laugh, but only because they think they’ve hurt me. It’s funny winding up the sad stupid freak. And I laugh with them, but they aren’t laughing with me, they're laughing at me. Make people laugh, put a little sunshine in their otherwise sad drab little lives, and how do they repay us? They fear us, they hate and they pity us. Ooohh! they say 'The sad clown frightens me!' ‘And he's probably a child molester’ they think; ‘otherwise he'd have a proper job.’ And now the bastards are conspiring against us, ME, by chucking me out of my home. And I'm supposed to go and make them laugh. A sad, homeless, feared, pitied, miserable, fuck up of a clown.