What does it take to be a professional clown? I was infiltrating the clown universe [Read Part 1 here], and now heading for my first performance.
Dressed up in this. But backwards.
The day of my big clown debut, I wake up with a pulsating hangover and am ready to vomit. To ease the pain, I get thoroughly baked. Returning to the failing clown company, I'm now ready for duty. Bozo answers the door.
"I'm here to entertain children!" I exclaim, brightly.
He looks angry to see me. "There's the costume. Make sure it fits." Bozo disappears. (You can't trust clowns.)
My outfit is a big yellow Pokemon suit with large yellow head, long pointy ears, red cheeks, stupid fixed smile, a pillow for my stomach, and big, floppy yellow shoes.
My gig's in Daly City, smack in the middle of The Hood; I'm Pikachu in the ghetto! One problem: I don't know how the costume fits. If I wear the huge tail in back, the costume chokes me at the neck. So I wear it in front, with tail protruding from my groin, flopping slightly to the left. Maybe it's not a tail but the "funny Pokemon-thing" that flops around. Another problem: I can't see or breathe with the head on, accentuating my hangover.
Feeling like a complete Frostwit, I walk the streets of The Hood to the apartment building.
"Everyone's running late," says a stocky guy out front, drinking a beer. "The kids aren't here yet."
Making my way inside, a little girl in pigtails bursts into huge, hysterical tears at my sight, grabbing her mom's leg.
"It's funny Pokemon! Look, it's the funny Pokemon dance!" I say, trying to bring mirth into her short life. Raising my knees high, waving my arms in the air, her crying escalates to huge sobs. I'm the scariest yellow bastard she's ever seen!
I make my way into the party room, which is filled almost entirely with glaring adults.
"It's funny Pokemon," I say, dancing around the room, giving out handfuls of candy, shouting over and over again, not knowing what to do next. "I'm funny Pokemon!"
A hot looking babe comes over. "I think your costume is on backwards!" she whispers, looking at the huge appendage jetting upward from my groin area.
"No, this is how it's supposed to be," I legitimize.
"What's this?" she asks, groping my frontal tail.
"Oh, that's the 'funny Pokemon-thing.'"
"There's a bathroom. Maybe you should go fix your costume." She's telling, not asking. Small children look utterly bewildered as huge yellow, Pokemon goes into the toilet.
Making the major costume adjustment (tail in back), I stay in the bathroom for way too long. Outside the door, I hear confused and excited children.
"He's in there! He's in there!"
Letting the anticipation build, I emerge from "the crapper." "I'm funny Pokemon!" I shout. "Hey kids, funny Pokemon is going to make funny balloon animals."
"Sometimes a balloon is just a balloon"
Salty sweat drips in my eyes as I fumble for balloons. "Here's a snake!" I give the untwisted balloon to the delighted birthday boy.
Then I erect "the sword" -- the easiest construction in the balloon animal family. Making roughly five of these pointy concoctions, I realize "the sword" greatly resembles a well detailed penis. Pokemon is making balloon penises, complete with Mr. Johnson and The Boys. The adults in the other room are glaring even harder, so I quickly switch to the classic dog.
"What kind of balloon animal do you want?"
"I want a lion!" shouts a little kid invading my personal space.
"I want a giraffe!" shrieks another in a Pokemon T-shirt.
Though trying my best, all my animals look like victims of a horrific accident with missing ears and/or balloon legs.
Grabbing a parachute from my bag of tricks, I segue into a game where the kids grab the sides. It's almost impossible to breathe in the oven-hot costume, and I'm gasping for breath. "Let's pretend we're camping!" I wheeze.
This already has perverse undertones. We pull the parachute over our heads, and stay under for way too long. I can hear tense murmuring amongst the adults. We stay under a few seconds longer. Emerging, all the adults glare.
"Are you going to do face painting?" says a slightly annoyed mom. "I was told there would be face painting!" I turn the tables: yes. It's time to hit on the mom!
"Soooo, what are you doing after the party?" I smoothly say through my big yellow head. The mom's more concerned with face painting than flirting with a big yellow cartoon character, though. We move onto the face painting, which I do equally badly.
This hour could've only gone by longer if a sharp steel pole were wedged through my foot. "Pokemon has to go now kids!" There are a few shouts of resistance.
Still, I leave the party feeling beaten down. My funny Pokemon head slumps dejectedly forward. "That was horrific," I say out loud for my own benefit. Yet, I have no time to brood, as I need to get across town in a half hour for my next gig ... which would also be my last.
Please continue to Part 4: My Last Party!
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