Why Clowns are Scary - a www.Sneeb.com EXCLUSIVE

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Posted by SneebDotCom at 24-148-9-106.na.21stcentury.net on April 27, 2002 at 21:11:49:

When I was a young boy I was truly terrified of clowns. This is not uncommon. I realize there is a great silent majority out there horrified of the prospect of having a clown in their immediate area.

My entire life I have been trying to figure this phenomenon out. It definitely has to do with their eyes. Those clown eyes, sparkling with the knowledge of what pains a man must go through in life; mixed with an inability to use that knowledge for personal betterment. Those clown eyes, full of sad-happy dichotomous struggle. Those crazy clown eyes, trying to fool us into thinking they are something other than human, only happy and always stupid in their ignorance. I saw the beers behind their foreheads and the tears that painted on an armor of white. I sensed the forced asexuality that made them slap-happily numb but reaching for a secret new. Much like priests, who are basically clowns but with a respected organization to grab onto and not in need of face paint; for they have a much better hiding place. The smile too, the clown smile. The smile, painted on as necessity. Have you ever looked real hard at a clown? The human behind the clown rarely smiles; he doesn't have to. BRIGHT RED lips, as if they just ate the bloodiest of meals.

Yes, those big red lips, they haunted me as a child. I remember thinking of clowns as colorless, soulless beings, fresh from a gory feast. I imagined they ate people alive. I knew they weren't that happy, and I sensed they were hiding something. I imagined them eating children, eating parents, and even eating themselves. When confronted by a clown, I became very defensive. I would stare at their pure white skin and lying eyes and wonder why they were flesh-eaters. I would imagine them feasting upon other clowns the most, for they were more rare a treat. I imagined that clown meat was more pure and tender than human meat, with less toxicity. I imagined it was smooth in texture, much like dairy queen vanilla ice cream. I would see them bumbling around together, acting as if they were friends; clown acting at its finest. But I knew that when they all jammed into that small car that they were desperately gnawing and biting at each other's legs. I could see the red of their smiles more bright as they exited.

Clowns had secrets. Clowns were evil. Clowns were cannibals.

Often, when confronted with a party clown, the type that had a limited number of children to entertain, I would become even more defensive. The extra individual attention was maddening. I would distance myself the best I could, but this just made the clown worry about the lack of happiness in my heart. If it only knew it was the source of my unhappiness at the party, if only my childish mind had the ability to explain. But I couldn't explain and it would follow me, harassing every one of my senses. I would become defensive and contemplate whether it was okay for me to punch the clown in the stomach. You see, a child makes up certain rules in his mind that adults will never be able to fathom. For instance, we knew that punching a person in the stomach was not right. But a man in a Chuck E. Cheese suit was not really a person, but some sort of weird condescending trickery that only insulted our intelligence. Therefore, we could punch him in the stomach as hard as we possibly could. This was fine. So I would often wonder if the clown fell under the same category as Chuck E. Cheese. Could I punch this thing? Would he just shake his finger at me and walk away like Chuck did? Or would he use my attack against me and try to eat my flesh? I always decided that he would indeed try to eat my flesh to make his smile brighter. So I would then wonder what his pure white flesh tasted like… was it marshmallows? What would he do if I jumped up and bit his cheek off? Would he still make me a stupid balloon animal or would he be a sad clown? Would I turn into a clown if I ate some of a clown? Would my smile become bright red and happy to those from afar, but sad to those who saw me close up? I always came to one conclusion.

I figured out, in my mind, where clowns came from. It seemed to me that the secrets the clown holds were apparent to some and not as apparent to others. Those who sensed the curse of the clown were doomed to an eternal inner struggle over whether to let the clown irk him for eternity or to harm the clown. I decided that all those who decided to hurt the clown in any way would then indeed become the clown. Those who turned the other cheek and let the clown purge his sad-happiness would rise above and remain human.

Albeit psychotic, my childish ideas have a skewed metaphorical merit. I believe this completely with in my non-clown heart.

In conclusion, all I can really say is this: Clowns are fucking weirdo cannibals, but don't bite their cheeks off or else you are no better than they are.


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