Poindexter & The Scary Clown

Once upon a time, there was a boy named Poindexter.

(I know some of you find this hard to believe, in a day and age when every boy is named Jason, but it's true.)

Poindexter lived in Utah, in a big house made out of green jello.

One day, a scary clown knocked on Poindexter's door.

(It wasn't so much a knock as it was a shplooge, which is the sound you make when you bang your fist against green jello - if you don't believe me, try it yourself - but I said "knock" because if I said "One day, a scary clown shplooged on Poindexter's door", God only knows what you'd imagine with your filthy mind.)

When Poindexter went to see who had shplooged on his door, he saw the scary clown standing on the front porch!

(Oh! Did I mention that the scary clown was made out of ice cream? Well, he was.)

The scary clown (made out of ice cream) ate Poindexter. And everybody else in Utah was happy because nobody liked Poindexter.

(They weren't especially fond of the scary clown [made out of ice cream] either, but he could eat them, so they said nice things about him even though they didn't mean them.)

Poindexter, even though he was eaten, wasn't worried. Being a Poindexter, he knew that a scary clown made out of ice cream was ridiculously vulnerable. Poindexter had watched The Weather Channel that morning, so he knew it would be 86 degrees later on (that's 30 degrees Celcius) so he just waited for the scary clown made out of ice cream to melt. And so he did. And Poindexter returned home to his house made out of green jello and lived happily ever after plotting various revenges against the people who were happy he was eaten.

The End









This is what happens when you give me awards. If I'm not insulting the person who gave me the award, I'm making up extremely silly shit (which is pretty much what I do most of the time here, anyway, but not with such a handy excuse for my behavior.)

Green Jello (See how I worked her blog handle into the story? How clever am I! Not very. Shut up.) gave me The Poindexter Award. Why? Apparently because I admitted to liking Sudoku. See, out in Utah (where the median IQ falls somewhere between 67 and thinking that it's pronounced "ick") doing Sudoku puzzles is a sign that you're some kind of Einstein. At least, that's the impression I got from her previous post, to which I admitted that 3 of the 10 things applied to me.

Wow. So far, this is convoluted and stinky! And if you think it's going to get any better, you don't know me very well, do you? Anyway, I should have saved a whole bunch of time by saying she's a Mormon and that Mormons really suck. I don't know for sure if she's a Mormon, though.

[*waits a beat for comic effect*]

(See, I didn't take back the part about Mormons in general? I only expressed doubts about her being one? That's kinda funny, in a pre-1960's KKK-ish sort of way.)

Hey, I bet right about now you'd like to know more about The Scary Clown Award! I got that one from Pouty Baby. She gave it to me about five months ago.

(If you go to the link, it appears she didn't give it to me, but to someone else. She did give it to me, though. I have the e-mail from her to prove it. She probably changed it on her website when I ignored it, which was rude of me but explained more fully in the following.)

I was so thrilled to get it, I forgot all about it until just now when I was going through some old e-mails looking for one I had meant to answer from an Ethiopian lawyer who assures me I had a long lost uncle who was Minister Of Finance and who died and I stand to inherit 10,000,000 East African Shillings (which as I understand it are worth 24 Lire apiece, so when I find it, it's goodbye to you goons!) and there it was. She gave it to me for my other blog, The Talkback Button, which hasn't had a new posting since before Windows 6 came out, let alone Windows 7! Snort!

(Hmmmmmmmmmmm. Maybe I deserve The Poindexter Award.)

According to Pouty Baby, here's why I got The Scary Clown award:

The Scary Clown Award is given to blogs which display a great sense of humor, and just the right leaven of attitude!

Leaven? That's like yeast, right? My blog is all yeasty? Yuck! Let me smear it with some Monistat and then we can continue.

Actually, this was all well and good until we got to the part about scary clowns.

(Well, not all well and good. It was convoluted and stinky - still is - but play along, okay?)

MY WIFE is afraid of clowns. The medical term for this condition, by the way, is Frolicphobia (which she made up and I'm getting it into print before someone steals it and makes millions from it, like Vince McMahon did with Spinerooni.) And I don't appreciate getting awards that play on MY WIFE's neuroses. If you want to scare me, that's one thing. Go ahead. My biggest fear is that all of my female readers will send me naked photos of themselves to 93 Winsor Avenue, Watertown, MA, 02472, so please, if you must frighten someone, I'll take it like a man. But leave MY WIFE out of your sick gruesome fantasies, Pouty Lips.

(Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Pouty Lips. I wonder if that has anything to do with the yeast infection? Oh, it's not those lips that are pouty? Well, you just became about 45% less interesting, but you're probably more comfortable when you sit down. And your name is Pouty BABY, anyway, but then the joke don't work.)

Speaking of Green Jello, I wasn't, but now I will. She thought she got off easy before. Hah! You never know when my drugs will kick in and I'll remember you. Just remember that! Remember what? No, what's on second. Who's on first? I don't know. Third base!

Did I have a point here? I hope not. If I did, I'm sure doing a lousy job of making it.

I just realized that I have no idea where Yeasty Lips lives. Her husband, if she has one (and, if so, God bless him) might be outside my door right now with a shotgun, just waiting for me to stick my head out so he can blow my face off. Let me check!

*BLAM!*

(Man, that's gonna smart when I'm sober...)

Look, folks, it should be painfully obvious by now that I'm all out of things to say about awards. Give me a break, will you?

(Yeah, like that's gonna work. I've asked them to not give me awards before, and I've even been nastier than this before, but nothing seems to stop the bastards from giving me the damn things. Maybe some reverse psychology? Might as well try it; I've tried everything else.)

Yay! Awards! Give me as many as you have! I love them! I crave them! I can't live without them! The more rules I have to follow to accept them, the better I like it! I especially like the ones in foreign languages and those which feature anthropomorphic animals!

[*looks over shoulder to see if anybody is buying this crap*]

Um... look, just lay off, OK? If you don't, I'll send Green Yeasty Jello Lips over to your place to sit on your couch naked and read to you from the Book Of Moroni.

(Unless I can get her to come to my place first, or at least send photos.)

Soon, with more bitter stuff.

DISCLAIMERS: From the limited personal interactions I've had with them, attendees of The Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter-day Saints appear to be a swell bunch of folks. All insults were an attempt at failed comedy. Anyway, I'm in favor of polygamy, if that helps. And, so far as I know, Pouty Baby has an entirely yeast-free genital region. I'm sure it's lovely. If I find out differently, I'll be sure to update you.