Clown Meets Farm
I’m just going to start with a little disclaimer here; if you don’t like clowns or if you have a clown phobia (Coulrophobia) it’s best that you just pass on reading this post. Because this post is pretty clowny. Now I don’t have a clown phobia, but I am not on the best of terms with clowns. I think they are at the very least annoying, and at worst just downright creepy. Thus, I try to avoid carnivals and circuses. I find something creepy and malevolent lurking beneath the surfaces there. That may be in part to reading Ray Bradbury and Stephen King novels. And just as I can’t help taking a peek into that world through their stories, I am tempted to draw in closer for a peek at those strange clown/carnival/circus images. But not for long. Just enough to look and run.
Yesterday, we stumbled upon a small town carnival. It’s that season I guess. We thought we’d just take a walk and poke into some shops of one of our favorite quaint towns nearby. Unbeknownst to us it was “Town and Country Days” which meant the carnies came to town. Which means weirdness has tripped in and set up shop with all of its bright colors, alarming faces, beckoning voices, and that carousel music playing over and over and over. Till you find yourself face down in the rabbit hole.
So then why, when we were perusing the shops amidst all that Calliope cacophony, did I stop and linger over this;
Nooooo! Creepy clown in a bin! He was sitting in a tin bin outside a very cool vintage shop on the main drag. And I had to stop and look at him. And then not only that…I played with him. He is no ordinary clown. He accepts donations. You put a coin on his scary palm, push down a lever in his back and his eyes roll up (yeah, just what I want to see a clown’s eyes do) and his mouth opens and the coin goes down the hatch. I couldn’t resist. I kept playing with it.
And Pete kept saying, “it’s only $5” in his evil Come-Walk-The-Clown-Path-With-Me voice. Aaargh, something wicked this way comes and it’s here in our little town!! And my resistance is weakening. And so…
He is mine. Or is it the other way around??! What cracks me up about the receipt is that the store owner actually wrote “creepy clown” on it. I didn’t realize that until I got home and got a laugh out of that. I think she did that because I approached the counter holding it out in my hands saying “I’m taking the creepy clown”. I like a store owner with a sense of humor. I hope I have that same sense of humor when Creepy Clown wakes me up at night with its eyes rolled into the back of its head asking for coinage. I might then have to put it in the back of the closet like I did that time I begged my mom for an Alfred Hitchcock album. One listen and that’s where the album went. But it was great!
Anyway, Creepy Clown came home and I gave him a tour of the farm. Some of our present farm residents weren’t too sure of our newest occupant. Holsteins are pretty curious, but this time…eeh, not so much.
After the meet and greet, it was time to bring him to his new residence. That’s right, the Milkhouse. For some reason, it just seems right that he should be there. That is to say, far enough away so that he doesn’t come at me in the night, but close enough that I can gaze upon him and drop coins in his belly and shake them out of his arse once in a while. Welcome home buddy;
Funny thing is, after our farm tour I placed him in the milkhouse and put a quarter in him, pressed the lever, and corn kernels came out! Which goes to show, corn does travel. In one way, out the other! Ha ha, oh how degrading for the clown.