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The Vaporeal Defecation Of A Mental Diarrheatic
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The Vaporeal Defecation Of A Mental Diarrheatic
I just had so much fun writing the other two displays of inanity that I just had to write a third. Depending on how much you like my works, this could be either wonderful or horrifying, your choice. - Crazy Clown
[951 words]
Crazy Clown
Proud founder and president of Crazy Clown Productions (c)
[October 2000]
Dragonball Z - Akira Toryama's Drug Trip? (Essays) An essay worthy of the label of Crazy Clown, about the sheer ludicrousnessness of Dragonball Z. [989 words] [Humor]
Some Explanation Is In Order (Essays) You might come to this title expecting a deep, philosophical, or thought-provoking story; instead, you get this! It is an explanation of my rather unique writing style, by Crazy Clown. [447 words] [Humor]
The Demented Monologue Of A Downright Imbecile (Essays) Another display of foolishness and inanity, from the one who can do them best, Crazy Clown. Requires an altered state of mind to fully enjoy. [1,246 words] [Humor]
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The Vaporeal Defecation Of A Mental Diarrheatic
Crazy Clown

     I got a haircut today. The damnable barber actually made me pay him for it, which is, as always, as disgusting a ritual as testicular shaving, which I can tell you is not an easy task
when faced with only a sharp piece of glass with which to complete the rite. As I walked out the demonic red-and-white post of Satan, he remarked upon my shaven state (my head, I mean... I don't go quite that far with a barber on only our first visit unless he doesn't ask me to stop screaming) and said, "Hey! Now your ideas will leak out!" with a deceptively jovial tone that tried but failed to hide his malicious glee. I simply responded by forming an X with my fingers, loudly cried out, "leave me be, spawn of Satan!" and
ran past the somewhat perplexed onlookers, finally leaping into the cotton candy machine.
     I got a haircut today. Kinda' makes you wonder, huh? About ideas. Do fish have ideas, or do they subcontract that to the zebra-men on Venus? Or you could take the easy way out of the labyrinth of mental defecation and consider if thoughts or ideas are transmittable, or whether having too many of them will make your head pop like Keanu Reeves, or if they have a physical representation. Lots of people have made such claims and have been believed until they were proved to be frauds, unlike the second coming of
Napoleon in the form of a small woodland animal or the can of varnish in upstate New York that had the face of Mother Teresa, which I had to whisk away to the hamster-cave because the voices were starting to speak ancient Gaelic and I needed an interpreter.
     I got a haircut today. I got a hair cut today, and now I am afraid for my sanity. Why now, you might ask, and not at the moment that I inexperiencedly taxidermied my first senator without any instructions? Well, because that was the moment I became sane, that's why! Anyway, I am now fearing for my sanity because I don't want to have my brains leak out of my freshly shaven minty-clean scalp and make a mess on the futon. I
hate scotch-guard, and the thought of having to tongue-wash the windows again makes me shiver in orgasmic anticipation... Ok, now... But can ideas escape the physical limits of the human body? Of course! We see them constantly in both the primitive forms of speech and body language and the highly evolved forms of television and brain-farts. Ah, brainfarts. That shall be discussed next. But besides that, there is no real sort of
thought-fleeing that I should worry about, although goldfish and other simplistic dictators
of human slavery that are so bare-boned that their internal organs are transparent have to
worry that their plans for enslaving Microsoft users might escape into the mind of the cats who, in envious frenzies, will tear them apart and eat their brains in attempts to absorb the full details. Ah, what a relief!
     I had a haircut today. It led me to thinking about brainfarts. You know that feeling where you are talking/doing/screwing something, then accidentally let one loose and your mind wanders for a split second, and suddenly your entire train of thought, excluding the drink carriage, disappears into thick air, and then you are left in a daze for a month or so until you wake up in a strange bed with half a bucket of carp in one hand and your willy immersed in purple vomit on the sheets and wonder who you are? Sure we have, except that most of you freaks actually weren't arrested for indecent public exposure and were
banned from 6 states... you weirdoes. But what happens during this brainfart sequence? Where do the thoughts go?
     I had a haircut today. You know how some of the greatest inventions in history were actually drug-related hallucinations? Well, besides that, where does the inspiration come from? Where are these stray thoughts taken from to be placed in the mind of an entirely different person? Let me ask you another question, since you aren't going
anywhere. Ever smelt a fart? Of course, we all have. Ever get struck by inspiration after smelling crap vapors? Of course! Coincidence? I think not.
     I had a haircut today. My theory is that methane, the prime ingredient in the wonderful airborne stew that is the human fart, may take the current thought in the opposite end of the body and transform it into lattices of molecular structure that irrevocably floats away, to be smelt and returned into a thought-state by another. But why don't all farts turn into brainfarts? Well, that is simple. Occasionally, the person who let it out smells it first, and quickly sticks his or her head close to their excrematory area and vacuums the vapors back into their own body, therefore retaining the thought and possibly allowing inspiration to strike for them, not another fart-grubbing, idea-stealing,
wrinkle-nosed soul.
     I had a haircut today. This led me to the greatest mental defecation, more commonly known as an "idea," that I have ever experienced. Thank God that I didn't fart while thinking this up! I could have lost this marvelous idea for all eternity, thanks to those pesky kids, and their darn dog, too. Oh, and also because the damnable air conditioning unit from hell inside this padded suite in the laughing acres permanent hotel
steals all of our ideas. Must... kill... the... air-conditioning guy... Pbpbpbpbpb-hiss... Wha...? What was I just saying?
     I had a haircut today. I had a haircut today, and I am damn proud of it!

     Your humble servant who will one day overthrow you,
          Crazy Clown


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October 2000

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