Felony….Part Deux

I belong to a trading page on Facebook for my town.  They trade, give away or sell all kinds of things from furniture to football tickets to terror apparel.  Yes that’s right.  Right after Halloween, and to put a finer point on it…the creepy clown epidemic which seems to have run dormant in this neck of the woods; someone posted a complete and rather ornate clown costume for sale at the bargain price of 85 bucks.   What a steal.  Got to get me some of that!!  I can only imagine what may or may not have gone on in this suit.  

Clowns are inherently creepy anyway.  Many people I know feel there should be an Olympic category for clown beat downs or at the very least making them run full throttle while wearing their ridiculous oversized shoes from a hungry crocodile.  I don’t think all clowns are bad, only about 94.8 percent of them.  While I feel a mild to moderate annoyance of them, I have a friend who foams at the mouth with rage when they are even mentioned in passing conversation; like they were purposely put on the earth to chap his ass.  Then again, maybe they were.  He also has strong feelings on show tunes, particularly A Chorus Line, but I digress.

With the skies darkening earlier and earlier and my husband traveling more and more, I’ve been blessed with walking Hellhound at night.  One can hear me shuffling behind her with a poop bag in hand mumbling ridiculous shit like, “For the night is dark and full of terrors” while she hunkers down low at each passing sound and/or refusing to poop because someone might steal her soul.  I swear she was either dropped on her head as a puppy or she single handedly feels responsible for guarding my zip code.   These are the times I feel unrealistically hostile towards my husband for doing his job (leaving me unattended) because it leaves me to my own devices which is never a good thing.  This leads to things like me consuming an entire bag of Doritos in bed while telling my dog she’s overweight and can’t have any or texting my friends about their love lives while lip syncing Gloria Gaynor in my full length mirror or falling asleep in a bubble bath with wine or watching Love Actually and blaming Mr. Magilla for not being more like Hugh Grant until I remember the hooker incident and then yell at him that he should be nothing like Hugh Grant.  Something has to kill my boredom while he’s gone.  So I send him pictures like this…

  I swear if she could talk I would hear things like in our nightly walks like, “You see that you ungrateful bitch?  There’s a man with a white chalky face over there and you’ve laughed at me so many times, I’m gonna let him sell you off to the gypsies because you’re a doubter and a hater.”  There has to be some sort of primal fear ingrained in us.  Everyone I know hates clowns.  So somewhere back in across the eons, a clown done somebody wrong.

So here’s my question; what idiot would purchase this knowing the coverage that this particular phenomenon has generated.  Yes, please!  Could you please also include a size 12 Bruno Magli shoe with blood on the sole and DB Cooper’s parachute?  Let me put MY DNA on your costume so that way when the cops show up I can be the one they find guilty.  HARD PASS.  I’m fine over here in plain vanilla legal land.  I don’t even do well when men try to flirt with me for cripes sake.  

I would never do well in jail.  Especially dressed like this…


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