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By Misti Date: 2006 Nov 26 Comment on this Work [[2006.11.26.19.47.6812]] |
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Dear JoJo, Things are fine here, as fine as they can be underneath the circumstances. I’m working for the permanent circus now, the circus that is always in town. It’s called The Circus That Never Leaves Even Though You Kinda Wish It Would. My circus name is Wackadoodlepoodle. I am a different kind of clown. I am the kind of clown that takes her clothes off at odd moments and recites original poetry. To train for this job I had to attend three different schools. First I attended Circus Clown University in Salt Lake City, Utah. I graduated in two weeks. Then I attended Punk Ass Poetry College in Baltimore, Maryland. I graduated from that school in six months. Then I attended Stop Taking Yourself So Goddamn Seriously School of Nonsense in Gallup, New Mexico. I flunked out of that school. Still, here I am…writing and reciting poetry, doing clumsy cartwheels, farting on cue, flashing my tits, cunt and ass at cotton candy munching zombies. I make fifty dollars a show. I do three shows a day six days a week. I’m enjoying myself and eating a lot of corn dogs and jumbo pretzels with mustard in the process. As you can imagine, this is wreaking havoc on my marriage. Reginald is goddamn sick and tired of seeing me walk through the front door at a few minutes past midnight each night wearing clown makeup and requesting a cold beer. He finally stopped cleaning the house and buying the groceries as a means of protest. That’s fine, there is plenty of food to eat at the circus. I never did like my veggies. I don’t enjoy wearing the same clothes all the time, however. My clothes are beginning to stink. Also, the toilet is gurgling and this frightens me more than a little. Reginald was not cut out to be the husband of a punk ass poetry clown. He tells me this on a regular basis, just like a choo choo train arriving like clockwork at the station just as everyone expects and demands. He tells me he should have married a former head cheerleader or beauty pageant queen or Miss April. He wishes he had married Vanna White. Supposedly they dated in junior high. We have not had sex since Valentine’s Day 1999. It wasn’t even good. We are coasting on fumes. One day I approached Reginald on eggshells and suggested we seek Christian counseling. Reginald pointed out that we aren’t Christians. I threw my hands up in the air and walked away in disgusted defeat. Reginald is an Aries. I always knew this would be a problem. You knew it, too. You warned me that Reginald would need to be the star of every show. You warned me that Reginald would try to fuck me up my ass. Well, he tried once. I broke his nose and he never tried again. You told me in all your wisdom that I would not be satisfied with anything less than a Mexican Capricorn. I sucked a cock that belonged to a Mexican Capricorn once when I was eight but it was only because he told me it would taste like chocolate. It didn’t. Well, are you still scootin’ around with Tiger Tugboat and Rooster Toot McDaniels and Bumble Butt Anderson and the gang? Are ya’ll still up to the usual shenanigans at Buzzy’s Bowling Alley and Fat Ass Wisdom Café? Do you still pull out your penis when bored and make it talk like Don Knotts as Mr. Ferley on “Three’s Company”? Oh, JoJo. You always brought so much joy into my life. I wish we were sexually attracted to each other so that we could mate and nest. Alas, we are platonic soul mates and that is all we shall ever be. You like your women like you like your rootbeer…cold and traditional. And as for me, well, I like my men like I like my granny panties…cheap and ridiculous. I hope you are holding down the fort in San Antonio. I know you’ve got your hands full with Ducky, Taffy, Lemon Lime and Sno Cone. I never will forgive Ginger for abandoning you and those babies. I know you still love her but I wish you didn’t. She brought you nothing but misery. Well, that’s generally how it works, right? We never forget the ones who made us the most miserable. I will never forget Smithsonian. Even though he hated eating my pussy, cheated on me with various topless dancers and Hooter’s waitresses, drained my savings account, wrecked my Volvo, trashed my trailer house and shaved my head while I was sleeping because he thought that would be funny, I know that he was the one. I’ll never forget that weasel fuck of a monkey. I think of him whenever I hear “Hold Onto The Nights” by Richard Marx. I think of him whenever I see blue toilet paper streaming from trees. I think of him whenever I see a penny on the sidewalk. He was always saying, “Find a penny, pick it up and all day long you’ll want to fuck!” He was the wittiest man I’ve ever known. Enough of that. Remembering Smithsonian won’t bring him back. He is happily married to a trust fund brat named Kelly and living in a mansion in Monahans, Texas. JoJo, do you remember that night we put on those masks and robbed the convenience store behind the trailer park? You were Elmer Fudd and I was Daffy Duck. We split the money fifty fifty. You had your seventy dollars and eight cents and I had mine. Can you believe we got away with that shit? I can’t. I guess we born lucky, huh? Ha! We have to tell us that when times are hard. We have to remember that brand of fun. That will never be replicated for the rest of our lives. Still, we had that moment in time. It was ours to own. No one and nothing can rob us of that memory, that memory of robbing a store and getting away with it. Do you remember how we spent the money? You bought the “Nevermind” cd and a Hubba Bubba t-shirt and a carton of Kools and a box of glow in the dark condoms. I bought a cd of Richard Marx’s greatest hits and a red slutty dress and a bottle of cheap cologne. Twinkle In A Retarded Swan’s Eyes, it was called. I need to drop off here. Reginald is bawling his eyes out in the den. I think he is watching “Terms of Endearment” for the hundredth time in a row. I never realized what a masochistic baby waa waa that man is. I am going to buy a pet pig to eat the garbage since it never gets taken out. I will name the pig Bugs Bunny, just to be different. Most people name their pet pigs Porky Pig and Kevin Bacon and Fatso and Chubby Wubby. Not me. I’m different. I know you love this about me. I love that you are sardonic and streetwise. Come visit when you can. We’ll go to Taco Bell and order our food in a Cockney accent. Love & Leftover Halloween Candy, Tutti Frutti |