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    Thursday, April 25, 2024

    Rick's List - Clown edition

    In a recent Rick’s List, I waxed idiotic about the possibilities of wearing Halloween costumes out of season — when the masquerades were unexpected and could be utilized to confuse or amuse or freak folks out depending on the context.

    The original draft of that List included a clown suit, but I deleted it because A) clowns have a hard enough time considering NO ONE likes them and B) hasn’t the “eerie clown” cliché been rendered even more, ah, cliché?

    Or so I thought.

    And now comes a report from Chicago about a cell phone video showing a clown in a mustard-colored outfit capering through Rosehill Cemetery in the middle of the night. (Go ahead, Google clown/cemetery. It’s gone viral.)

    But, before you can even ask: No, that wasn’t me gamboling through Rosehill Cemetery that night in Chicago. Well, let me rephrase that. It wasn’t me in the clown suit in Rosehill. Oh, I was there that night. Why, yes! HA HA hahahahaha!

    Anyway, back to clowns. Yes, it’s become true that the clown — or jester or court buffoon or wry harlequin — is now consider by definition “creepy” rather than as a source for mirth.

    And if that’s how we as a planet are going to collectively view clowns then, by all means, I’ll throw out a few scenarios to consider if indeed you’re going to don the wig and white face makeup and red nose and create mayhem. In your official Clown Suit:

    1. Go into a McDonald’s franchise where Ronald McDonald is making an in-store appearance, walk right up in the middle of his child-happy performance, and hand him a Wendy’s bag. “Here are the burgers you ordered, Ron!”

    2. With two or three similarly dressed friends, go to the circus and, before the show starts, mill around outside the Big Top carrying strike-placards that read, “RAISE SLAPSTICK MINIMUM WAGE!”

    3. Speaking of Chicago, 8215 W. Summerdale is the location where part-time clown/full-time serial murderer John Wayne Gacy lived. Pull up, hop out of your car and, weeping copiously, shake your fist angrily and scream at the house, “Thanks for NOTHING, John Wayne Gacy! Now everyone hates us!”

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