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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, clownie-paws.
I'm Nice To Bugs And Drunk Clowns 16-December-2005
Somebody searched for sexy gray running shoes and found my site, where I have previously written not even one brief sentence about sexy gray running shoes. How are running shoes sexy? This whole sexiness thing has reached idiot status, if you ask me. I have been getting hit after hit from people looking up sexy christmas. Does every activity or event these days have to lead to sex?
"I'm going for a run, honey. Hopefully someone will want to get naked with me by the time I'm finished, seeing as I'm wearing these sexy gray running shoes and all. Oh, I hope I get followed by strange men."
What the hell goes on during a sexy Christmas? Remember when we used to just celebrate holidays? Now they have to look and feel like foreplay.
"You looked so hot unwrapping those popcorn bowls from your folks, baby."
"You know, I felt really hot. I almost wanted myself."
It seems nothing is exempt from the madness that is pure, hot sex. From sexy gray running shoes, sexy potbelly, sexy 4x4 to sexy drool and sexy twine, it's a global sexfest. It's all just so golly sexy. (I actually thought the golly sexy one was kind of cute, in a Mr. Rogers sort of way. I just now realized that I am physically and mentally incapable of feeling anything but sexy when I think of Mr. Rogers. Must be all those sassy cardigan sweaters he wore. I'll be right back.)
As I sat down to write this entry, I glanced at the keyboard and saw a little beetle-looking creature hanging out on the side of the H key. It took a while to safely retrieve him after he crawled into the space between the keys and eventually into the crevice beneath the X key, but I used the soft blue light for the first time which illuminates the keys on this disco keyboard, and it was indeed an undeniably disco experience. Once I had him out of danger (depressing the X key at any time may have caused his demise), I snapped a picture of the little bugger before transporting him back outside.
His actual length is no longer than the eraser on the end of a pencil. He sat for a while and fussed with his antennae, very much the way a woman might fuss with her wig after a ride in a convertible. I'm just glad it all worked out.
But
this makes me remember the many visitors I had recently to this site
after someone looked up
What
it actually makes me feel is sexually and mentally healthy, in all
honesty. Sure, I probably have the tamest sexual fantasies on the planet,
but in mine nobody
ever ends up dead. Nobody even needs a Band-Aid. And if I ever started having creepy,
When you're me, you won't leave the Barnes and Noble bookstore without being sucked into the beauty that is the Bozo desktop bop bag. That's right, you happily hand over $8.95 plus tax for a small blue box of that good stuff, and now you are certain that your days of anxiety are over thanks to this magnificent stress-reducing tool in the shape of "the world's most famous clown."
Armed with a 32 page booklet of Bozo history, you find yourself set for an evening of pure delight as you prepare to release the stress you've accumulated over your 37 years by giving Bozo a good bitchslap, which should render him useless for approximately one second until the sand which fills the bottom of his bag causes him to return to his natural, upright position.
The only trouble is that your Bozo doesn't get back up again. He remains horizontal like a good hooker, but not like a good bop bag. You curse under your breath. You think maybe he will perk up if you show him the desk on which he will reside. You place him at the helm of your lighted disco keyboard, the one which aids in locating lost bugs. You think perhaps he might want to type you a message, such as "I'm happy to be your clown" or "Have you any provolone?" But he doesn't. Instead he falls onto the keyboard, smashing his face against the illuminated blue keys. You take a closer look. Your Bozo is not defective. Your Bozo is drunk.
A few hours later you find yourself in the bathroom attempting to help him keep his flaming red clownhair horns out of the toilet as he barfs the aftereffects of a night out with the clowns.
In the morning when he groggily pleads with you to leave any and all loud electrical appliances unplugged to ensure silence, you offer him water and your trusted headache remedy, which he accepts graciously like a fine clown would.
A few minutes later he is feeling ever so much peppier. He moves the water and the medicine aside to show you that he can indeed return to a vertical position after an impressive slap.
"Go ahead, and make it a good one," he says with a smile.
And all is right with the world.
"I can't stand when there's extra stuff on the desk. All those smelly little notes. I can't stand those smelly little notes. They make me want to set myself on fire."
Well, I'm off to figure out how I can look my absolute sexiest while standing in line at the grocery store. There's a lot of competition there at Whole Foods Market, what with all the starlets roaming the aisles. But are they being escorted by the worlds most famous clown? Right. Clowns aren't in this season. They're in next season and those dames don't know it yet, so I'm the high fashion princess way ahead of time. They'll think back to their memory of me standing there with my devoted Bozo and feel perfectly mortified. Mortified, I tell you.
Thanks for reading.
Linda
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on the internet. About an hour later they began visiting in droves from all
over the world by way of a link placed on an internet forum which
discusses a 
called 
,
which is an activity where these people quite enjoy 
and small 
,
usually with their 
,
but sometimes they get their jollies by 
on them until they are dead. This is a huge sexual turn-on for these folks.
Anyway, what they swung by to read was a journal entry in which I had
mentioned the time in kindergarten I unintentionally 
sexual desires involving the uninvited suffering and death of others, which I don't plan on having in this lifetime or any, I'd make
really fucking sure to keep that crap out of reality. We all have
choices. I felt gloomy and sordid due to my unwanted inclusion into that
nastiness. Thanks, pervs.
