Friday, November 21, 2003

I AM A Star. An evil clown star; a good husband star; a pleaser of Irene; buyer of fantastic gifts. I am a lover & a killer. I AM AN EVIL CLOWN GOD!!!

As you can probably guess, the anniversery went extremely well. I'd almost given up hope of being able to provide a good suprise for her, but things went much better than I'd ever hoped.

5.00pm. Irene got home early. She'd been in meetings for the day, so a quick neck massage, a single rose, and a glass of champagne were presented to her. She smiled at me, asked where we were going out. Normally, I'd tell her, but this time I faked blankness.

"Our Anniversary", she said.
"Oh." I said, "I'd forgotten."
She didn't believe me.

5:35pm, I bought out the necklace. 24Caret Gold, and the filiment on it is so thin that on a tanned person, you wouldn't be able to see it at all. Each link of the chain spells out one letter of her name, followed by one letter of mine. It's an awesome work of art, and as fragile a piece, you'll never see.

6:00pm. The taxi arrived, and it was time to go out for a meal. I'd arranged a table at a morrocan restaraunt on the west side, and so we didn't do the whole "conversation running out" thing, I'd invited a number of her friends from work. She loved it. It wasn't as cosy as an anniversary should be, but she had a great time.

10.00pm. Back home, and some more Champagne, and then (for her), to bed. She told me she had a fantastic time; that it had been the best anniversary ever.


Afterwards, when I went out hunting, I made sure that each kill was quick and painless. Irene would have preferred it that way. Five victims, and I engraved each letter from Irene's name into their backs. She'll never know that I did this for her, but this is the best way I had of telling her much I love her; how much she means to me; how much tonight was just a perfect night.

Tomorrow, I think I'm going to talk to Rachel. The affair MUST stop.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

Somedays I get back from a hard night of slaying, and all I want to do is eat some food, watch a couple of Tivo'd reality shows, and then go to bed. It doesn't work like that. Before I go to bed this morning, I have to take my makeup off; take off my shoes; remove and place my blood splashed clowns outfit in the "blood splashed outfit" basket; clean the brain matter from the edges of my chainsaw; download all "after" pictures from my camera into my computer; cross off three names from my todo list; shower, shave and carefully clean under my fingernails; take the dog for a walk and clean out the rabbits cages; prepare breakfast for when Irene gets up and phone into evil-clown-central with my tally for the night.

But this morning, I feel so tired. I feel so very tired.

Tuesday, November 18, 2003

I'm a special evil clown. I AM A SPECIAL EVIL CLOWN. I'm supposed to understand what makes people tick.

So tell me. Why can't I work out what to do for Irene?

Huh. Huh?

Monday, November 17, 2003

Hints and tips: If anybody asked me what the most important thing about being an evil clown was, I'd tell them breathing. Learn to modulate the tone and volume of your breathing so that potential victims (a) know you're there, but (b) don't know where "there" is. The best evil clown breathers are ventriloquists. Remember that, and then, (and only then) can the slaying begin.

It's been a tiring weekend. One of the advantages of living in a digital world is that there's no longer any need to keep a photo-processing room hidden at the back of the cellar. Of course, I'm a bit nostalgic for the good old days when you'd push the paper slowly into the developer, and the victims face would coelesce from this blur of colour into some something sharp, definite and doomed.

However, digital is so much easier, plus you get the advantage of instantly being able to see the photo's you've shot, plus I think that to be an evil-clown in the 21st century, you really need to be able to move with the times.

So it's been a tiring weekend. After 18 hours of clearing, and knocking and screwing and tidying, I've managed to mostly convert that old unneccasary photo-developing room into a wifi-enabled computer control centre which I have nick-named (much to Irene's consternation) "The Nexus of Evil". More on my "Evil" nerve-centre, when the rest of the computer equipment (and the surround sound) has arrived and been installed.

Saturday, November 15, 2003

Warwick's Dry Cleaning on 2nd and 5th is the best dry cleaning shop in the world. Dave the owner was an evil-clown back in the day, so he's pretty used to removing those hard-to-remove stains evil-clowns tend to accumulate. He's also a demon with a sewing needle. After Dave's finished reattaching pom-poms to your clown suit, it'll take a good three or four franticly scrabbling victims to claw them off again. That's a saving of time and money, and if you're in our business, then you'll know that that's an important thing.

Everyone I know in the business uses him, and it's a great place to "accidently" catch up with some of the guy's I went to evil-clown college with. There's many a time I've been picking up my suit when I've bumped into one of my old class mates, and after a few awkward moments, we've picked up from where we left off, and we're swapping dismemberment stories like we've never lost touch.

Of course, with most of the guys, I could just pick up the phone and call them, but you know how it is. You don't speak to someone for a couple of months, and then you don't want to call them because it's been too long, and you wouldn't know where to start.

Thank God for Warwick's Dry Cleaning. That's all I can say.

Friday, November 14, 2003

It's my 13th Wedding Anniversery soon, and I'm racking my brain to try and work out what Irene wants as a present. In the past I've always taken her out for various meals, but to be honest with you, we've got to that stage now when we have so little to say to each other that there's no point in taking her out.

All the other gifts I can think of are evil-clown orientated. I'll see a cordless hammer drill, and I'm half way through wondering how I'll wrap it, and then I realise that this isn't the sort of thing you'd buy a Marketing Executive.

Buying gifts for Rachel is easy. Last month I bought her a new red wig and half a hundred-weight of nitrogen rich fertiliser. They're the sort of thing I'd buy myself and when I showed them to her, she made that piggy sqealing noise I find so cute.

But for Irene, I just don't know. Maybe I'll buy her a new jumper, or get her a couple more rabbits, or maybe I'll buy her a ring with some kind of diamond or jewel inset into it. Or maybe I'll gut & skin her, then leave her intestines in the park for the birds to peck at.

Irene, she always did love birds.

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Who was the first person I told about the affair? I can't remember. Obviously Rachel knew about it from the start, and it was at her insistence that none of the other evil-clowns got to know about it. But I had to tell somebody.

In the end it came down to telling the victims. Sometimes they're so understanding. Last week I was telling one about how it's beginning to affect my work, how some days I fantasise about going evil-special-clown on Irene and Gary (Rachel's boyfriend), and how every time I see a red wig and a bloodied chainsaw I think - "It's you, it's you, what are you doing here."

Anyway, after I told this victim about my affair, I began to cry.

I think it's one of my happiest memories of the last month actually. It sound's stupid, but there I was blubbering huge blobs of snot and grease-paint over my best killing frock, and the victim - this PERSON - is stretching his manacled hand over towards me, and I felt just this huge wave of compassion and love. I mean - am I the luckiest person in the world. I mean, that people around me are so darned understanding.

After I'd finished, I kept the head for a while. Some nights when the darkness threatened to overtake me again, I'd pull it out from under the bed, take it out of it's special box, and simply say Thank You - Thank You for accepting me.

Sometimes, when it's my turn to do the shopping, and Irene (my wife) has the other car, I have to drive the clown car over to WalMart to stock up on Custard Powder and Bleach. There's always some Wise-Guy who'll start pointing at the car, and making ridiculous Honk-Honk noises. I'll photograph them with my Canon Digital Camera, and when I get home, I'll usb-download the pictures onto my iMac, then I'll print them out on my Epson pho-printer. After that, I'll take the photo's I've taken, and I'll hang them on my wall of "approaching death".

It used to be that if I was bored, I'd also photoshop the pictures to make them look like I wanted them to look after I'd finished with the corpses. I had a special "Blood & Gore" filter my friend Philip made for me. I've stopped doing that though. The pictures were so changed, it got really hard trying to work out who I should be hunting down.

And besides, after that whole kitten and Domuken fiasco, they banned me from Fark.

Even special, evil, clowns need something to do in the slow haunting days when the sun is bright, and the sound of mayhem has slipped to a slow forgetful hum. That's why the special, evil, clown has got himself a blog where he can tell the good-people-of-the-interweb what happens during the normal day-to-day life of a special evil clown.

And it's not going to be the usual humdrum murder and carnage. Fun as that is, this is a chance for me to allow you to get beneath the skin of my life. And I don't mean "get beneath the skin" in that special evil clown way either. I've seen MTV Cribs. I know what the reality TV generation needs.

So, I've put away the flesh tearing hooks. I've deflated the chlorine filled balloon animals; I've replaced my scary clown costume for a pair of Gap Jeans and a Ben Sherman shirt. And I'm asking you to come, take a peek behind the scenes of the unextraordinary life of a special, evil, clown.

Today I want you to take the hacksaw from the special, petal lined drawer, and give it a good wash. Being a special evil clown isn't all about the hacking and the slaying. Take time to look after your instruments, and your instruments will look after you.