There is a very good reason I dislike clowns.
In middle school I played in the band-a trombone. One day, in May, we played a concert at a local festival. Afterwards, some four of us had some free time, and so we wandered around this large mall parking lot looking at all the displays. At one end of the parking lot we found a small circus tent with ropes around it. Definately not part of the festival tents, but we were curious, and bored, and 13-years-old, and without adult supervision. We walked around the tent and discovered, tied to a stake, a baby elephant. . .nibbling grass.
It was the size of a pony. . .and it looked lonely.
And so, because one does not often discover baby elephants in North-central West Virginia, especially in May, we decided after some discussion to investigate this curious phenomenon of nature.
It seemed a good idea at the time.
We looked around, saw no adults, and Jimmy, who had ADD before it even existed, ran over, smacked the baby pachyderm, and ran back.
My turn. Unfortunately, a clown emerged from the tent and told us to go away. We asked if we could pet the baby elephant, but he kept yelling at us.
I thought, being a clown and all, he was going to say something funny. (Because isn't that what clowns do? Say something funny?)
Then Mr. Clown started cussing, which can be tramatic when you're 13-years-old. As hard as I might, I simply could not reconcile what he said with anything approaching humor. I just stared at him and thought, "I just don't get it. This clown isn't funny at all."
Needless to say, we left the little guy. . .nibbling grass. . .because of a mean ole clown.