Don't be a Clown

Don't be a clown, don't act the fool. Says who? Who is to judge? Where does such thinking lead? To a world where we take ourselves too seriously? Laughter is out of fashion in these uncertain times.

Fight against the seriousness... where did all the humour go? Rage against, rage against... mutiny it is, if you are not doing what is right for the country. Un-country-ian. Wrapped in a Country Flag.

Mutiny doesn't sound so bad, when it is a mutiny of clowns. Big feet, painted faces, curly wigs, striped onesies, walking the plank. Toot, toot, sounds the horn.

Can you imagine? 

Collected from Clown Alley, where they laze about and smoke cigarettes and drink beer and tell lurid jokes. Cranky clowns, not wanting to tell humorous stories any more, not feeling funny in this more and more and serious world. 

"The fun has gone out of it," said Happy.

"The conservative politicians have divided this world into rich and poor, for their mates, with their lies, and their alibis," said Lucky.

"I don't like children any more," said Magic. "Not since the mother's have given them the world to control."

First thing in the morning, the clowns were rounded up with cattle prods by the politicians who think they are entitled to be the moral police, because they would no longer dance to the tune of the conservative monkey men. They are forced onto boats in Clown Harbour and taken out to where Clown Bay is the deepest. Pushed out onto planks and made to tell their last joke before they are pushed one by one from the end of the plank. Clowns famously can't swim. Nya, Nya, Nya-Nya, Nya.

There goes Happy and Lucky and Magic too.

The Coulrophiliasts would be cheering from the shore line.