What can YOU say in six sentences?
Tuesday morning, before clown class, I looked out the front window of my apartment and, sure enough, some joker driving a gray little bug-like car, sideswipes my parked Honda civic, and then drives off, without so much as leaving an I’m Sorry note on my windshield. I already had my clown shoes on, the really big ones (giant red and yellow stars) because that’s how I warm up before class: I walk around my apartment singing circus-friendly show tunes, miming hilarious aerobics, and bumping into furniture with my oversized balmorals.
So I ran down the stairs, and out into the street, in hopes of getting a look at the guy’s license plate or at least a look at the kind of car he was driving. I must have been really mad, because the cop who arrested me later informed me that it was against the law for me to fire an anti-tank rocket launcher on the streets of Pittsburgh, while I was nude, even if I am an Iraqi vet retraining for civilian life.
“Man,”I asked him, while standing there in my birthday suit and enormous balmorals, “what’s this great country of ours coming to? Can’t anyone even take a joke, anymore?”