How do you style your hair? With a hand grenade?
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” the insult clown says. “Look, the guy’s laughing along, even though his father tragically was a Brillo pad. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
The clown doesn’t pause. “Hey, little girl holding the big man’s hand. Do you feel like a blimp handler in the Macy’s parade? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” (“Hey, little girl. What’s it like to ride an elephant?” That comment got another clown ejected because the “elephant” was the fair board’s president.)
“Your nose is so big, you could smoke a cigarette in the shower, and it wouldn’t get wet. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
His commentary on the carnival crowd continues almost constantly, always followed by the braying, caustic “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” It always lasts exactly four seconds. I know because I heard the laugh for 4 days at a fair.
Welcome to “rage in a cage.” That’s what his off-duty t-shirt says. On duty, he’s a clown in a dunking booth with bars so tightly spaced nothing can hit him. Well, maybe a slender blow dart from an irate Amazonian tribesman. No carnivals in the rain forest for him. (“Hey, shorty. Why do you carry that shrunken head? So you’ll have a combined IQ of 50?”)
The clown’s psyche runs a much greater risk of injury. But for playing the bad guy, he grosses almost $75 hourly on a busy night. Bandits with briefcases make more. So do Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, Lisa Lampenelli and all those other zinger flingers you hate, love, or hate to love. Except this clown is accessible to the common crowd. He’ll insult you. He’ll insult anyone he sees, though easy targets are the fat, old, inept, ugly, etc.
I’m briefly,faintly jealous because he has so much potential material. My puppet only makes mild comments couched in compliments: “I love that tie-dye shirt. You could spill anything on it and no one will notice. Did it start out as a white shirt?” Or, “Sir, you either have a very cute child or a very odd wart on your shoulders.”
Effects of insults: Adults usually take the clown’s insults with a “ha ha” or a mild “oh, yeah?” attitude. But who knows what kids really think? The clown says to a tween-age guy, “Why are you wearing all green? Are you a leprechaun? What about that John Deere hat? You probably smell like a deer.” No visible psychic harm occurs. The clown even lets the kid throw an extra ball.
To a tall, pretty tween-ager standing with her older sister, he says. “Hey, little girl. What’s with your hair? Your sister should have taught you how to comb it — though she’s no success story.” The tween-ager gets an extra ball, too, but as she walks away, she combs her long hair with her fingers. A block later, she’s still combing it sporadically.
The clown says he’s played everything from a nun’s retirement home to Bike Week so his repertoire varies. (If a heckler tries to nail him, he leaves nothing but a bloody puddle of slaughtered ego.)
And he isn’t even the worst of the breed at fairs. One insult clown regularly needs a police escort when he leaves the grounds.
What’s the clown like outside his cage? Let’s just say modeling is not a career option for him. He probably caught many of the insults he now throws. He’s also wary and wired. I feel wired, too, even after 30 minutes of making wacky commentary and compliments with a crowd. But this guy is high voltage. As for wariness, it’s probably an occupational hazard. When I try to go backstage to chat, his cohort cracks the curtain, gives me the Arctic eyeball and is monosyllabic until I convince everyone I’m harmless.
Here’s how the clown’s business works: His chatter draws a crowd, or at least attention. People pay $5 for 5 baseballs. They must hit the bullseye hard to dunk the clown. Ten seconds later, he’s back on his perch: “High and dry. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.” (He’s not dry, but he has a wetsuit under his clothes.)
A youtube clip: Judging from his laugh, here’s my guy persecuting two pretty women: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nna6s4wsuCE
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