An answered prayer from God has led me to permanently cancel the divine roosters & angry clowns book tour.
The Holy intervention came days after I was attacked at a stoplight by a posse of clowns from CAPT, the organization of jokesters who had launched a libel suit against divine roosters and angry clowns over what it considered to be a slanderous attack on its membership.
Even though I managed to avoid the ambush by driving through a red light, the clowns jumped back into their black and white-striped circus car and pursued me onto the freeway where we became engaged in a high speed chase.
Fortunately for me, I was able to lose the furious funnymen after they attempted to get around a slow moving semi by driving their toy car underneath it and became stuck. As for me, I kept on driving until I found a motel in an out-of-the-way place where I could wait for the clown uproar to settle down.
For several days I sat holed up in my motel room, my only link to the outside world my publicist, Butch Whistles. Unable to venture outside, save for quick trips across the street to the convenience store for food and gin, I had much time to reflect.
The book tour had been marred by an ever increasing litany of setbacks, which had led me to this flea bag motel in the middle of nowhere. I could only conclude that divine roosters & angry clowns was a cursed book, one that I should have never written. It’s not easy for me to admit but in my troubled state, I began to contemplate dark thoughts.
I don’t want to go into detail as to what I was prepared to do but suffice it to say that I was saved by a knock on the motel room door. When I called out to see who it was, a muffled voice responded that it was housekeeping. So I put down my homemade tattoo gun and removed the stencil drawing of a clown with a teardrop from my neck and opened the door.
To my horror, standing before me was a clown in an orange and black checkered suit which held a large red plastic flower in the lapel. My heart instantly froze, but before I could react, the red squirt flower issued a stream of pepper spray directly into my eyes.
I collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. Clawing at my eyes, I heard the sounds of many people enter into the room. Then a pair of strong hands pulled me up from the floor and roughly pushed me down into a chair. As the tears streamed down my face, my vision blurred, I felt a pair of handcuffs slapped on me.
When the pain in my eyes receded and my vision became clear, I could see the tiny motel room was filled with clowns, all dressed in a wide variety of colorful costumes.
Most were holding either plastic bowling pins or seltzer bottles. A few carried creams pies that had dangerously hardened to form tough crusts. One particularly menacing clown held a hangman’s noose made of twisted balloons in his beefy hands. A number of them had cigarettes dangling from the corners of their painted lips. Their only unifying characteristic was that they all looked angry.
They were all silent except for the clown who had pepper sprayed me. He introduced himself as Loosy Stools, a clown with irritable bowel syndrome, whose props included bedpans and rectal washout kits. Loosy Stools told me he and his clown buddies had come to take care of unfinished business.
I stared deeply at the assembled group of tough merrymakers and knew they meant business. Yet despite my fears, I vowed to face them with dignity and resolve. So I began to tearfully beg them to spare my life, promising that I would issue a public apology, have divine roosters & angry clowns taken out of print, and complete a clown sensitivity training course.
My generous offer had no effect as it was met with silence. That’s when I knew that only a prayer to God could save me.
Admittedly, the first part of my prayer was an angry, curse-filled harangue over the unfairness of it all. However, I quickly realized that probably wasn’t the best way to win over God’s favor. That’s why I then offered God a promise that if he got me out of this mess I would devote my life from that point forward to doing charitable work.
My heavenly plea had its intended effect as suddenly a downpour of water filled the room. Apparently, the clowns’ cigarette smoke had set off the fire sprinklers, which then shorted out the joy buzzers held in the hands of a few unlucky clowns. The electrocuted clowns dropped to the floor, which caused a mass panic in the room, allowing me to escape amid the confusion.
Now having been granted a second chance in life, I have begun to honor my promise to God and start devoting my life to the less fortunate. My mission however will have to be done in the shadows as I have gone to live in another undisclosed location, ever fearful that these angry clowns will never tire of hunting me down.