What happens when a clown with a dark past gives a girl a present at her birthday party?
Well, I guess it’s time to find out!
During the last stream, we spun the Wheel of Prompticality and these are the two prompts that it chose:
#1. A clown with a very dark past attends a child’s birthday party
and
#2. After a girl sneezes, she finds herself floating above the ground.
We had to combine the two together in one single story, and we ended up with something magical.
Watch the highlights here or scroll down to see what we wrote.
Here’s what we wrote:
After my balloon-dog had failed to impress the third graders at little Betty’s birthday party, I squatted down to eye level with all of the scowling brats.
“You kids want to see a real magic trick?” I asked. My star-rimmed eyes bounced to each of them, still crossing their arms or groaning. Some of them were darting their eyes to the cake on the backyard picnic table mere feet away, their chins throbbing like little piggies ready to snort up some frosting at the cake-trough.
“You couldn’t even pull a rabbit out of your ass,” said one of the boys in his high-pitched pre-pubescent voice. All the kids giggled at him, more laughs than I’d gotten all day so far. But I’d show them.
“You’re right,” I said, standing back up. “I can’t. But I can pull one out of yours. Wanna see?”
That shut up the little snot-goblins. They were ready to make fun of a clown messing up some tricks, but their small brains weren’t prepared for a clown messing with their minds.
I looked around the backyard. No parents in sight. They’d slipped me the envelope with the cash in it pretty much as soon as I’d arrived, saying they might not be around when the party was over. And they were as good as their word, not a legal guardian to be found.
“Follow me,” I said, waving the kids on with my white gloves and rainbow puffy sleeves. The little bipedal viruses wobbled behind me obediently, through the sliding glass door and into the contractor’s-dream-of-a-kitchen. Smooth granite counters, matching wooden cabinets, and one of those massive fridges built into the wall that says the temperature on a digital readout, presumably because rich folk refuse to eat anything that hasn’t been crisped to the optimal temperature as prescribed by Better Home and Living.
I really need to charge more for this crap.
“What are you doing?” came the voice of Betty the birthday girl. “This is my kitchen.”
“Well that explains the smell, then!” I turned back to her and the rest of the walking snot bubbles with a bright grin on my white-washed lips, honking the horn attached to my shoulder. Not even so much as a chuckle from the turd-machines.
“You said you were going to show us real magic,” said the same ass-boy as before.
It was time to start the act. I didn’t have much with me, but with any luck I wouldn’t need to bust out the good stuff until later anyway.
“Actually,” I said, stroking my rosy chin, “I asked you if you wanted to see some real magic. I didn’t say I was going to show you anything. If you’re so eager, then maybe we should just forget about it.”
I began stepping away in my oversized yellow shoes, only for an outcry to pour from their little grimy lips.
“No, wait!”
“Show us!”
“Please!”
I rotated myself back in front of them, put my hand on the pantry door, and slowly opened it to their unblinking eyeballs. Inside was filled to the brim with all of the upper-middle-class food items that I’d expected: Pop Tarts, Little Debbie Snack Cakes, bags of cheese balls, and the grand prize of them all.I reached up to clasp the can of whipped cream.
Bringing it down slowly in front of the kids, I carried it like the sweet baby Jesus himself. Most of them eyed it with newfound curiosity, but ass-boy grumbled.
“That’s just whipped cream, you dumbass.” He looked around, expecting more laughs, but this time I was the one in control.
“You have quite the potty mouth, boy. How about you come over here and we can clean it out?”
I beckoned him with my glove and he stomped over. I flicked my finger against the whipped cream can with a ting.
“All real magic starts with science, kiddos,” I said. “These cans of whipped cream, do you know how they shoot out that tasty white stuff? It’s with nitrous oxide, a gas. And, if you tap it in just the right away, you can send the cream to the bottom and the gases to the top.”
“But why would you want to do that?” Betty asks.
I raised my glittering eyebrows. “I can show you. Open your mouth, boy.”
Ass-kid showed me his molars, and not one second later I turned the can on full blast straight for his uvula. Only a few sprays of foam came out, but I caught the tailwind from the nitrous, and that alone was enough to get me giggling so hard my makeup cracked.
“Holy… ass!” the kid moaned out. His head wobbled all around and he blinked as if seeing the world for the first time, then burst into laughter. “You really… can do magic! You’re a… hairy wizard!”
I ruffled at the purple wig dangling from my head. But before I could come up with a snappy comeback, the other kids were all clambering for the can.
“I want to try!”
“What’s he seeing?”
“Show us the spell!”
I blasted the gas into each of their wide-open mouths, like a mama bird vomiting worms into her brood. Each of them cawed with their jack-o-lantern smiles of missing teeth, screeching and smacking their wet gummy hands against each other, and falling to the floor laughing.“Call me Hagrid, kids,” I said, looking over my successful trick. “Because I’m taking you all to Hogwarts today.”
That was just the start. When the can ran out, the kids demanded more. I introduced them to all of the magic available in the kitchen. We did shots of Robittusin from the medicine cabinet. We cracked open some paint cans from the garage and huffed in a circle as an appetizer, then went on to the cannisters of petrol for the main course. I poured mouthwash down their guzzles like they were on Spring Break and I had a water hose full of champagne.
“That’s the great thing about huffing paint!” I said to the kids as they sloshed over one another. “There’s no breathalyzer for it, so when the cops catch you, they can’t do anything.”
“I’m the birthday girl! Ahahaha!” Betty announced to everyone who was still conscious. Her mouth was sticky with liquids and dusted in a layer of nutmeg that she’d just finished snorting. She looked at me with the fierce gaze of a fresh junkie. “You need to give me a present!”
I had one trick left up my sleeve. Usually I didn’t use it like this, but seeing how the party was going, now was the perfect time to break it out.
“I have a pet for you,” I said, reaching into my polka-dot pocket.
“Is it a pony?” she asked.
“I guess,” I said. “Here. Give the pony a good lick.”
I pulled out Franklin the lumpy brown toad from my pocket and held him in both hands in front of Betty. He was in a constant state of sedation, always ready to either vanish under a hat or provide a blast of neurotoxins whenever necessary.
“Holy ass!” Betty said, her pupils not even fixed on the frog. “It is a pony.”
Without a second of hesitation, she slapped her tongue on that bad boy like she’d been wanting to suck down a furry pony her entire life. She only got a good second of licking in before her friends shoved her to the side and started lapping up the sweet frogwarts for themselves.
Once they’d all had a turn, I figured I might as well have some fun and gave Franklin a hello kiss for being such a good boy. The way he neighed afterward and started trotting off on a rainbow was a little strange, but Franklin is a chill dude so whatever.
“Oh my ass!” screamed one of the kids. “Look at Betty! She’s freaking out.”
Betty was having a sneezing fit from the nutmeg still stuck beneath her nose. Every time she let loose, shoes and dead cats erupted out of her nose, piling up on the floor. They must’ve been weighing her down or something though, because every time she sneezed, she floated up higher and higher. Somersaulting through the air, with a pile of rotting leather and fur beneath her, she slammed into the ceiling, the only thing keeping her from floating away into space.
“Aaaaaa… hahahaha!” Betty cried, halfway between laughing and yelling. “Everyone keeps saying ass! Everyone keeps saying ass!”
All the children on the ground were pointing and giggling and pissing themselves, but I needed to save Betty before the ceiling monsters sucked her up. I could see them, the bright lamps dangling down, eyeing the fresh meat that had dropped into their domain. They clanged and slithered slowly toward her, ready to cook her flesh with their halogen tongues.
I looked over and saw the broom in the pantry singing opera. That was when I knew what I had to do. I grabbed the broom by her throat, cutting her off mid-cadenza, and climbed the mountain of dead cats and shoes to get to Betty.
“Back, you hellish fiends!” I said to the lamp-monsters. They hissed and flickered at me, but they were no match for the fat lady when she sings. I smacked Broomella against their ceramic bodies as hard as I could, knocking her head off as I smashed them to pieces that spiraled to the floor like oak tree seeds exploding into fireworks.
“Clown!” Betty cried. “Help!”
I’d missed one. The LED light from atop the sink had slugged its way across the ceiling, now gnawing on Betty’s wrists, dripping its waxy trail down her arms.
With only Broomella’s stick-body remaining, I stabbed it upward, right into the light itself. Bang bang bang against the ceiling, sending tremors across the world. I would apologize to Greenland for cracking open their glaciers later. They would understand when I came over with Betty and I wearing the gold medal of Child Safety Achieved around our necks.
One final stab upward was all it took. The evil LED burst into fireflies and buzzed away into the walls, leaving behind its evil residue. A black hole open in the ceiling, dripping out thick white teeth from long-dead god-beasts. At first I was afraid it would suck up Betty and take her away on her birthday, but she fell down into my rainbow-striped arms and I held her safe.
“Thank you, clown,” she said. “That was a weird pony ride.”
The high started to pack its bags and leave. It nodded its cap to me, gave a wink that said it knew it’d return someday, and then walked out of the kitchen, taking its bags with it.
I fell to sitting, still holding Betty, as the other children all around were in varying states of vomiting, shivering in a corner, or eating an onion like an apple. Franklin the frog was sitting on ass-kid’s slowly-heaving stomach, making happy ribbit noises.
“Holy… ass!” came a new voice. It was the parents. Betty’s mother and father skidded into the kitchen, taking in the disaster.
“What the ass happened here?” the father demanded.
Well crap. I hadn’t expected them to be here before I made a break for it. And right now my heart was in no condition to try to sprint away. I guess it was back in the slammer for old Carl.
Until my hand touched one of the teeth from the dead god-beasts. A pile of them lay next to me, something that had spilled from the ceiling. They weren’t teeth… they were bag upon bag of cocaine.
Grinning my best clown grin, I picked one up and showed it off to the parents. Their faces turned whiter than any god-tooth.
“I tell ya what,” I said to them. “You keep my secret about what happened here, and I’ll keep yours.”
Of course they didn’t keep my secret. I was indicted on seventeen accounts of providing illegal drugs to minors, and sentenced to fifty years in prison. But hey, on the bright side, at least Betty said it was the best ass birthday she’d ever had.
THE END
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Featured image: Pakutaso