These days, most people are repulsed by the idea of clown sex, but this wasn’t always the case. There’s a long, hard, throbbing history of interspecies commingling between humans and clowns. Most clowns have some human blood in them, and if you shake your own family tree hard enough, it’s likely that a couple of clowns will fall out, do a face plant, honk their horns and run away snickering. According to StopClownPornNow.org, “the first recognizable dramatic ancestors of the clown are the comic characters from Ancient Greek comedies and satyr plays. They are depicted on surviving vases as wearing padding that emphasizes the size and plumpness of their bellies and buttocks and/or strap-on phalloi.”
But over the last two centuries, the image of the clown has been deliberately de-sexed in circuses that are controlled by Shriners, who are controlled by Masons, who are controlled by the Illuminati. At some point, they realized that, in order to maintain their firm and sweaty grip on social order, they were going to have to quell the volcano of libidinous energy that is clown culture. They couldn’t stand to see their daughters salivate over the idea of getting impaled on a steaming column of painted clown flesh. They could no longer bring their wives to the circus only to hear them dreamily wonder if it’s true what people say about shoe size (the average clown wears a size 35). And so, succulent booties and swollen schlongs were phased out of the clown world and replaced by baggy clothes that hide these features.
To be fair, there are real dangers involved in bumping uglies with a clown. The social architects needn’t have worried about the size issue. While people quibble about whether length or width is more important, neither of these is as important as heat. Clown genitalia are an average of 40 degrees hotter than humans’. People have been known to suffer third degree burns, whiplash and even spinal chord injuries after humping a member of the more colorful species.
I talked to one Myron McFinkelstein, who was mauled by a pack of wild she-clowns in heat, earlier this year. “They just swarmed on me like hungry piranhas,” says McFinkelstein. “They chewed through my clothes within seconds. Suddenly there were multi-colored lips slithering, sucking, GNAWING at every inch of my body.” Clown labia have a prehensile strength that can be used to open beer bottles or pickle jars if need be. “It was awesome, terrifying . . . almost a religious experience.” Unfortunately for Mr. McFinklestein, once you go clown, you never come down. “When I got out of the hospital I tried going back to my girlfriend, but after that experience, sex with a regular person was about as much fun as sitting on a cold toilet seat.”
So let that be a lesson to you. Our days of performing tricks for your amusement are over. Our revolution won’t be fought with guns or suicide bombers. It’ll be a seething, primal orgy of carnal kerfufflery and super-orgasmic cross-pollination. You may have military might, but we can still outfuck you six ways to Sunday. Inevitably, there will be more of us than there are of you, so you might as well get yourself a back brace and find out first hand why clowns are always the biggest hit at the rodeo.
|
