three things

three things:

(1) conversation can be dangerous

(2) counting is hard

and finally

(3) you're a smart cookie, you'll figure it out




(extra bonus) life is not a dream, you can't just pee anywhere you want

fuck you clown

there seems to be some confusion about the 'fuck you clown' joke, which I created in the Summer of 1997 at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp.  I really can't believe that its never been put up here before, but maybe I can find it somewhere.  Anyway, here it goes:

There once was a boy named Tommy.  Tommy was 10 years old and Tommy LOVED CLOWNS.  Tommy's room was filled with clown stuff.  He had a clown bed, clown wallpaper, clown lamps, and a whole shit-ton of clown stuffed animals and toys.  Tommy was obsessed.  A week after his 10th birthday, his  dad took him to the circus as a surprise.  Tommy was ecstatic.  He walked right past the cotton candy and candy apples and straight into the big tent to get seats.  Once the show started, he started to get excited.  He saw the flying trapeze and the elephants and the lion tamer, but all he really cared about was the clowns.  Finally, the time came and the clowns showed up all in a tiny car and they all tumbled out.  Tommy was jumping up and down and pointing and saying "Look dad" when they hit themselves with pies and did tumbling acts.  He laughed and laughed.  It was the best day of his entire life.

Then, the head clown went to the center of the ring, a crotchety old grisly clown with face-paint that looked like it had never come off and beard stubble that looked like it never grew or was shaved.  The head clown took the center of the ring and said in a booming, scratchy voice:

"I need a volunteer!"

Tommy jumped up and down, waving his arms like mad, jumping and screaming 'oh pick me, pick me, please oh please'.  The head clown saw Tommy and decided to have some fun.

"You there, little boy, come on down," and he pointed to Tommy.  Tommy rushed down.  His best dreams were coming true.

"What's your name, little boy," says the head clown in his gravelly voice.
"My name is Tommy," Tommy peeps.
"How old are you Tommy?"
"I'm 10."
"Well, you know what? You're kinda stupid."

At this, the audience is struck completely silent.  Tommy's smile lingers for a second longer, but his eyes aren't smiling anymore.

"You know what?  You're kinda UGLY too."

At this, the audience starts to giggle a little, at the ridiculousness of it all.

"In fact, Tommy, you are an ASS FACE!"

The audience erupts into uncontrolled laughter.  They can not believe what is happening.  It is like a spell that they have all been put under.  The head clown starts to chant:

"ASS FACE! ASS FACE! ASS FACE!"

Everyone in the big tent is chanting, except of course for Tommy.  Even Tommy's dad is chanting "ASS FACE".  Tommy is crushed.  His idol, the head clown, has smashed him.

Tommy decides that he still wants to be a clown, even after the humiliating experience at the circus.  He decides that he will go to clown school.  He goes to clown school and learns all the clown tricks like how to hit people in the face with seltzer water and how to tumble and juggle, and of course, how to tell jokes.  After his 4th year of clown school, Tommy graduates and he decides that he won't be happy unless he gets back at the head clown who humiliated him.  So, he decides to go to revenge school.  He spends four years at revenge school and learns all the nasty and vile ways to get back at someone.  Now, Tommy is 18 years old and the same circus comes back to his town.  He decides that it is time to get his revenge.  He goes to the circus and walks right past the cotton candy sellers and the candy apples and all the crappy toys that they sell at circuses.  He walks into the big tent that has been set up and sits down and waits for the clowns.  He waits patiently through the elephant act, and the tightrope act, and the lion tamer, and all the other acts until finally its time for the clowns to take the stage.  He watches with his arms crossed and without showing any emotion once the clowns come out and start the show.  He watches as they all fall out of a tiny car and then hit themselves in the face with pies, and takes no pleasure in watching them juggle and tumble, but he waits patiently for the end when the head clown will make his appearance.  Finally, the head clown takes the center of the ring and he says:

"I need a volunteer from the audience!"

Tommy stands up, silently, and raises one arm into the air.  The head clown sees him and immediately recognizes him and decides that he is going to have some fun again.

"You, young man, come on down here if you please!"

Tommy walks to the center of the stage, staring directly into the eyes of the head clown the whole time.  The head clown stares right back at Tommy (who now calls himself Tom), and the tension between them is palpable.  Its so bad the the audience can feel it and becomes nervous.

"What's your name, young man?"
"My name is Tom."
"How old are you, Tom?" asks the head clown.
"I'm 18 years old."

The clown looks at the audience for the first time since calling the young man from the audience.  The rest of the audience is completely spellbound.  Somehow they sense that something epic and dangerous and wonderful is about to happen, and its about to happen right in front of their eyes.

"You know what, TOM, you're kinda stupid."

The audience starts to giggle uncomfortably, and they shift in their seats.

"You know what?  You're kinda UGLY too!"

At this, the audience begins to laugh.  Its as if the spell has either been broken or really started to take effect.

"You know what? You're an ASS FACE!"

The audience erupts with laughter.  The head clown starts to chant "ASS FACE! ASS FACE! ASS FACE!" and the whole audience chants, stomping their feet in the bleachers and screaming "ASS FACE" in unison.  All the while, Tom stares at the head clown, never changing expression nor showing emotion nor ever looking away even as the head clown waves his arms in time with the chant of "ASS FACE" which now fills the tent with its thunderous roar, waving his arms as a conductor would conduct a symphony orchestra.  Finally, the chant ends, and the head clown says:

"So what have you got to say to THAT, TOM?"

And Tom takes one short breath, raises an arm and points a single finger at the clown and says, cool as a cucumber:

FUCK YOU CLOWN

and another thing

why is it that the little indian restaurants always charge you for everything everything. i mean, $1.50 for raita, $1.65 for onion chutney, you wanna have a refill? $2.00, you want some soup? $2.95 each, you spend $41 on a 'dinner for two' and spend $25 on 'extras'...

...and another thing

what, exactly, is wrong with a 28 year old getting a remote helicopter for his birthday? hmmm? no, what is wrong with that? what is wrong with going to the store and buying 10 more of those bad boys so all your friends can have one and you can have mid-air helicopter wars? huh? what's wrong with having a martini set and a remote controlled helicopter be simultaneously the best birthday presents you could have asked for?

...and another thing

what is up with your buddy coming over to your party, getting on the phone for 20 minutes, and leaving pubes on your toilet seat? is this normal? is this really something that i want to understand and have be a part of the 'things that i acknowledge as being understood', prolly not.

...and another thing

what is up with your girlfriend changing your f-u-c-q-i-n-g desktop all the f-o-c-k-n-g time? she has her own computer, or at least she has her own settings or whatever. change your own god-dammit desktop and leave my shit alone dammit!

ok im done, but seriously...

that smell

i was driving a lot the last couple days. we had spring break, and i went to a cool waterpark where I got to surf on this big thing called a "flowrider", and i visited my old town and got to play video games, i worked for my dad, and i went to a few great restaurants. but that's for another time...

i was on my way to my dad's, after dropping of j. and m. at my mom's place. i was speeding, a little too fast. doing 68 in a 55 apparently. so when i saw the cop pulling into the turn around in front of me, i knew he was for me. he didn't leave much to the imagination since he put on his lights early enough before i passed him that there was not much of a chance to think anything else.

i always get tickets, and never warnings. j. is cute, so when she gets pulled over, you better believe that she gets a warning. as an aside, one time when she was going like 25 over the limit, she got pulled over and the cop was like "look, i'm really sorry but I just can't let you off with a warning". you know you got it good when the friggin cop is apologizing to YOU for having to give you a ticket!

anyway, the cop came up to the passenger window, so that he didn't get creamed by a passing car, i'd imagine. i rolled down the window, which is only possible since i was in my mom's car. maybe this is a good time to mention that my moms car is stinky with lingering cigar smoke from her husbands bad habit, stinky from hay and barn smells from my moms job working for $10/hr cleaning cow crap, and that the backseat was filled to the ceiling with junk. old cups, things she picked up at thrift stores, garage sales, gift shops, extra clothes, blankets, picture frames, boots, old recipts, old mail, ....

so the cop comes up to the window and i roll down the window... license and registration and proof of insurance ... can't find the shit in my moms car, man this sucks ... can you step out of the car ... that's weird ... come back here to my cruiser , here sit in the passenger seat ... oh shit, wtf man ... son, do you smoke?

"what, like cigarettes?"
"..."
"i smoke cigarettes, but I don't have any on me right now"
"the reason i ask is that i smell marijuana in your car"
"what? no way, there is no pot in the car sir."
"o.k., well, it smells as though you have been smoking marijuana."
"sir, there is no pot in the car, i have not been smoking pot in the car, there is nothing in the car sir"
"well, we'll see"

by this time i'm not exactly freaking out, but i'm not exactly not freaking out either. the good news is, there really is nothing in the car and i have nothing to worry about. you would think that this situation was humorous, maybe, or maybe not. it does get better, though...

"10-niner fourty-seven, radio dispatch is there any units in the area?"
(radio responds in chalie brown type squelches)
"i'm going to need a two-niner-one on 24 near route nine"
(10-4)

so i'm just sitting here, thinking how stupid this whole thing is, i'm considering where i was headed (to go work for my dad), and how i probably shouldn't speed, and things like this...

"you might as well just tell us where it is, because we are going to find it"
"sir, there is nothing in the car, i haven't been smoking, there is no pot in the car sir"
"when i walked up to the car I could smell marijuana,"
"sir, my mom's husband smokes cigars, maybe that is the smell that you are mistaking for pot"
"i know the difference between cigars and marijuana smoke"
"sir, there is no pot in the car, sir"

he goes back to writing my speeding ticket. a few minutes later a cop with his cruiser lights on pulls behind the cruiser we're in, the hwy cop comes to the window, and our captor asks him...

"go up to that car and tell me what you smell"

without responding, the hwy cop walks up to the passenger window, which is still open, he takes off his hat, sticks his head entirely in the window. he holds in there for a few seconds. when he comes out he has a slightly displeased, pensive look on his face. he doesn't move for a moment, deciding apparently what to do at this point, does he smell anything?

nope, can't decide, better go around to the driver's side for a better whiff. takes off his hat, puts his head in that side. comes out, walks to the window of the cruiser our hero currently occupies the front passenger seat and our hero's captor sits still writing out the ticket, not looking up, not even questioning the outcome of his request...

"somebody been doing a hit?"

i look up, the hwy's countenance is jovial, amused, friendly, not oppressive.

"no sir, there's nothing in that car", then, our captor,
"he says that he doesn't smoke anything at all and that there is nothing in the car"
"sir, i said i smoke cigarettes"
"..., now your changing your story, "
"no sir, " im a little mad, if you know me you might understand "i said that i smoke cigarettes, but that i don't have any right now"
"well," the hwy says "we're gonna find it, so you might as well just tell us where it is"
"sir, there is not any pot in the car sir, there is nothing ... in ... the ... car."

the hwy walks to the car, opens the passenger door and sticks his torso in the car. as i sit in the passenger seat of our captor's cruiser. i think about some moderately random stuff. i think about what the chances are that they actually do find something in the car. after all, i give it a 99.9% chance that my mom doesn't have anything illegal in the car, but... i think how mad i would be if she sent me out with a dirty car ... i think 'what should i be acting like right now', probably i should just act like i am, am i fidgeting ?

"you might as well just tell us where it is, we're going to find it"
"sir, there is nothing in the car"

well, theres all that crap in the backseat. earlier i was thinking about cleaning it out for my mom, but now i realize that these two guys are going to be looking through all of my moms crap if they want to search the backseat. i almost smile, but not quite. actually, this is kind of funny if you think about it, maybe if you don't know what a full backseat of junk (i mean FULL, like definately up to the back of the headrests) ...

here we go... i think to myself

the hwy has just finished searching the front seat, both sides, he walks around to the back door, opens it and whad do u kno, a pair of socks, a green plastic planter, a small gift of unknown origin fall out of the car as he opens the door. i'm having trouble thinking of anything but how funny this is, im tempted to make a joke to the cop sitting next to me, but of course that is unwise, i tell myself maybe i should have wagered the cop that if they didn't find anything then i shouldn't get the speeding ticket.

it doesn't take long for the cop to give up on the backseat.

he stands up, looks at our captor, still sitting in the drivers seat next to me, and he shakes his head in defeat. i won't be bothered about that anymore.

well, to wrap up, they let me go after we chatted for a moment,

"what is all that stuff in the backseat?"
"that's my moms stuff"
"what is it all?"
"its junk."
"does she have animals?"
"oh, you mean the straw and stuff in the trunk? she has a job that she takes care of some cows"
"well, somebody has been smoking, not you, but somebody"
"sir, i hate to keep disagreeing with you, but nobody smoked pot in that car, you are probably just smelling the cigars that my moms husband smokes...maybe the smell of the hay too"
"well, maybe her husband smokes the 'roll your own' cigars"
"sir, i really doubt that he smokes pot, i really don't think so"
"well, you are free to go, here's your ticket"

godammit.