"Can't sleep, clowns will eat me."
There is something about a stop sign that motivates people to take their happy meal and pitch it out of the car window. Fries, burger, everything on the street complete with the red white and yellow bag.
Sophie's morning walk takes us past two popular ejection points. Add rain and vehicular traffic and the "I'm lovin' it" product metamorphoses to an organic calorie rich spooge. In dry weather the "food" makes a dark greasy spot on the asphalt. In wet weather it stays "ready to eat" much longer. Sophie loves it.
Why would a corporate entity admit to having a clown on the payroll?
On this blog the other day a reader characterized some very well meaning civic minded Central Virginia leaders as clowns.
I think calling someone a clown is the ultimate insult. In the politically correct environment of today I reluctantly admit that there are "good clowns" out there. People dressing up, tying balloons for children on the cancer ward, donning squeaky noses. But honestly, I'm a borderline coulrophobic, my mom raised me never to trust a Clown. To me, "good clown" is an oxymoron. (for some interesting educational musings on coulrophobia read Joseph Durwin's piece Coulrophobia and the Trickster.)
Memo to Mickey D customers: keep that trash in your belly or in your car. The Woolen Mills is a clown-free zone.
Scary Clown Plaza
John Wayne Gacy