If you are not aware of A Clown(e) on Fire, I forgive you. He might not. In a recent post, he declared an opening for the position of “A Clown on Fire: Club Member Wrangler” (ACOFCMW) which loosely translates to “Dapper One Under Clown’s Honorable Expertise” (DOUCHE). In order to gain the title of DOUCHE, one must declare one’s candidacy as well as express one’s reasons for declaring one’s candidacy. The rest of this post might not make much sense to those who aren’t aware of the competition – but there’s a great picture of the mayor’s wife. So I got that going for me too.
“I’ve got a good mind to join a club and beat you over the head with it.” Groucho Marx.
If there were ever a club I would love to join, it would be Club Clowne. And if there ever were a club that would hit you over the head, it would be Club Clowne. And if there ever were yet another club of which I had joined and would be closed by the police after various members were caught with their pants not just down but on the wrong people, it would be inconspicuously blending in on South Street in Philadelphia while fronting as a Mexican restaurant. Not that it ever actually happened.
As a member of Club Clowne, I would take my duties as seriously as I take my coffee. Sugar, no milk. I’m no pussy. The title I would hope for is Efficiency Expert. I know that term is rather highly technical for most people, so let me break it down. “Eff-” as in F- you. As in, if you don’t like how I’m approaching my duties as Efficiency Expert, then fuck you. It doesn’t take an expert to say “fuck you.” Just say it like you mean it, or you’re at least willing to back it up. In fact, Club Clowne will need an official greeting, and I think we’ve just established one. We will also need a secret handshake. I propose a middle finger up one’s nose, then swish and flick. Projectiles earn extra points.
As a member of Club Clowne, it will be my job to see that meetings are productive. One of the best measures of a productive Club meeting is how many paper towels were needed to clean up after the meeting. Need for a mop earns extra points.
As a member of Club Clowne, I would gladly play a role with public relations. For example, I would be happy to write press releases to explain how it was all a misunderstanding and the mayor’s car will be returned later today and in relatively good condition. Returning the mayor’s wife might take a little longer. Just waiting for the penicillin to kick in.
As a member of Club Clowne, I would assist with fund-raising. The main source of income would be what my New Jersey friends and I used to call “Window Insurance.” It always seemed to be a great coincidence that someone’s windows would get mysteriously broken less than a week after missing a window insurance payment. Go figure.
As a member of Club Clowne, I would do my best to promote diversity in our membership. If that means scouring the bayous or small apartments of Louisiana in order to find qualified personnel, then dammit that is where I must go. If that means riding a creaky bus through the northern highlands, then I will be on that bus, though I expect it will be a short bus. If that means walking the beaches of Mexico wearing a Speedo after double-dosing on Viagra, then I will make that sacrifice. Worked last time, so what the hell.
As a member of Club Clowne, I would be certain to volunteer for record keeping. Just put them in the closet, but be careful not to let Tom Cruise get out. Last time he got out, it took us three days to get him back in again – and he was NOT happy about it, but Katie Holmes was tapping dancing like a midget trying to stamp out a fire.
In closing, I know that it is not a right, not a privilege, not just an honor, but it would be a “privhonright.” I’ll get back to you on what that means, but I can give you this much – getting OUT of Club Clowne will be just as tough as it will be to get in. If you’re not sure what that means, just ask any of the recovered hamsters that spent last Saturday night in Oprah Winfrey’s ass.
(Translations by Google© Translate)