The clown is mine
“Reports are coming in from all over the country, strange occurrences at fast-food restaurants” were the hurried words from the news broadcast. Strange that I remember it that well…even after all these years. August twenty sixth twenty twelve, if only someone of authority had put the pieces together, was the day the re-birther movement was born. What a fucking nightmare!
All I wanted to do was have some chicken, and a pop…so to the local chicken hut I went. That chicken was the best I have ever had, and the pop…it was to die for. Well I wish I could die. If only I could die, if only. I am not sure if it was the pop, or the chicken, but one caused my dilemma. I can’t die, just can’t; won’t work no matter what I do.
That was three hundred and thirty three years ago.
Within months of the birth of the movement it became clear that the commotions could be linked to two fast-food joints, one burger, and one chicken. I have been tracing the start for hundreds of years now, and I found them…the fathers of the burger family. After a week of torture one admitted it was he that started the whole thing. And for that I will damn him for eternity. Presently he is lying in a vat of oil soaking for his burning upon my return. The burning won’t kill him, but it will sure hurt and it is the least he deserves.
“I swear I didn’t mean for the statue to come to life; I just wanted to stop people from drinking the pop, I swear!” The boy actually thought I cared what he had to say about his intent.
“Shut up! I only want one thing from you…where… is… the… clown? The only words coming from your mouth should start with, the clown is…otherwise shut the hell up while I cut you some more”
I call him a boy but he is the same age as I, but he looks to be about nine years old.
Holding the knife I decided to see what he would do if I punctuated the next question by stabbing his blue fucking eye out. “Where the fuck is he you fuck stick!” Thrust, withdraw, the knife made a squelching noise as I pulled it out, and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed. The wails were soothing in a way; they drowned out the eternal screeching. Eternity would be good if not for the screeching.
After a few more minutes of the screams I threw a bucket of water over his face, and got really close to him on his other side.” Where is the clown” I whispered into his ear as I tapped the tip of the knife on his cheek progressively closer to his eye…
“In Tokyo…at the burger temple in Tokyo” he said with a sob. And then he pissed himself.
That was three days ago. It took me a day to get to Tokyo, and I have been sitting outside the temple for the last two.
The clown is mine…he is mine!
Chris McQueeney 8/27/12 12:10 P.M.
This story was penned in response to a story written by Ben Ditty...he Is an extremely fun and interesting writer please go check him out....