(children shouldn’t play in the forest. bad things hide there. fifty years a circus came to town. they left something behind. a lost soul. he is the reason people hate clowns. a little boy is standing in front of a large drainage pipe.)

echo pipe voice> hey Tommy... wanna play a game.
Tommy> o...o... okay.
echo pipe voice> well come a little closer Tommy... hehehheeeHEhEheheh
Tommy> okay...

(he steps slowly to the drain. he pears down the pipe... he doesn’t see anything at first. with out warning something leaps out at him... the first thing he notices is the teeth. massive saw-toothed grin. outlined with smeared red paint. a white painted face and giant, seering red eyes. Tommy is frozen with fear. soon the clown will feed on his flesh. or, at least, that was the plan.)

Tim> I have a game we can play...

(the clown twists his head around in a fury... a baseball bat smashed furry)

SMACK!

Tim> Wasn’t that fun!

WICHACk!

Tim> From a strictly orthapedic stand point, that sounded not good.

(Tommy dives behind a tree to avoid the conflict. the clown dangles half way out of the pipe, seemingly lifeless.)

Tim> that was quick and painless, (tim hops down from his perch atop the pipes.) for me anyhoo... ello (he grabs the thing by it’s poofy green hair, and lifts it’s face up to his.) anyone home.

(suddenly the creatures eyes pop open. his fingers sharpened to points shoot out at tims head. an sub-animal growl emits from it’s jagged mouth.)

Clown> die!!!! HehheHEHehaehheheHEHE!!!

(before it can make contact Tim grabs the clown by it’s face and yanks it from the tube and swings it big red shoes and all up into the air. whipping it’s legs up above him. with it’s skull firmly in hand Tim whirls it back around and sends it face first to the rocks below.)

SMASH!

Tim> Um... ya that sucks. (he reaches down and grabs the busted ass sideshow by the hair again, pulls it’s head back, then quickly smashes it’s face back against the rocks.) Stay down this time. I can’t fuck around all afternoon... now where did that kid go.

Tommy> I’m over here.
Tim> You ok?
Tommy> Shiit... it ain’t no thing.
Tim> well, um, that’s good.
Tommy> what ever, I think you owe me some ends bitch.
Tim> I owe what now?
Tommy> money, bitch,. you promised cash!
Tim> oh ya... ten dollars right?
Tommy> What! my nigga you know you owe me twenty.
Tim> I don’t think that was the deal, little guy... I’m pretty certain I said ten.

(tim leans down with a big grin on his face and pats the little kid on the head)

Tommy> do I have to choke a bitch!?!?
Tim> Geez... fine. (he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a couple of crumpled up ten dollar bills.) that wayne brady is such a bad influence.
Tommy> whatever bitch... all this for that sick fuck. what kinda stupid ass mutha fucker would wanna play with something that lived in a sewer? what kinda dumb fuck would think something like this would be scary... a flesh eating clown, so stupid!
Tim> well at least he didn’t turn into a spider at the end.
Tommy> no shit. what kind of self respecting author peddle this shit off as literature. I mean really! how does Steven King sleep at night?
Tim> on a mattress stuffed with money, cuddling his stock portfolio.

(They nod at one another)

Tommy> well... I’m outie.. lates Tim.
Tim> bye bait... I mean tommy.

(Tommy walks off into the world. Tim wonders over to the creepy demon clown that is most definately not named Pennywise... cause, well, that would get me sued. he kneels down, the creature has rolled over onto it’s back.)

Tim> kids today huh? (the thing replies by choking on it’s own blood and frothing at the mouth.) soooo.... lets see. what’s next? oh ya! (Tim reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a small dagger, it’s plain cept a fat purple gem at it’s hilt.)

STAB!

Tim> ok... now what?

(Tim is no longer alone. a team of shadowy figures have answered his summons. they are draped in black hoods. Tim can’t make out their faces, doesn’t matter, he’s pretty sure they don’t have them anyways. they collect the impaled corpse of the clowny-thingy, and slip off into the air. a moment later one returns with the dagger. It hands it back to Tim.)

Tim> huh? (he studies the dagger for a moment.) that was nifty...

(the hooded figure vanishes. elguapo appears.)

El> are all thoughs collecter freaks gone?
Tim> uh, ya. think so. never can really tell. (he stick the blade back into his pocket.) so what now?
El> well... I heard there was this pink cadilac that kills people.
Tim> that’s not funny.
El> would you believe an evil tiger dog with super strength?
Tim> is that the one where that lady gets stuck in the car while the st bernard drools all over the window for like an hour and a half?
El> not sure, I fell asleep in the theater. oh... I hear there’s a place where peoples dead pets come back for zombie revenge.
Tim> ooooooooo.... decomposing kittens! I quiver with fear. how about we go back into town, by a bottle, and I’ll combat the big evil beast that is sobriaty.
El> sounds like a plan. just don’t get to drunk and kill your wife or you might have to tunnel out of a maximum security prison with a carving knife. oh wait, that isn’t fucking possible!
Tim> I liked the Green Mile.
El> word of advice, you ever do time... do your best to avoid any large black death row inmates with the “special touch”.

(emerging from the forest, they stubble upon the vegas strip. were a mob of people have some poor smucks tied to pikes up on a stage in the center. for some reason there’s a man with long hair and a denim jacket with a bunch of smile face buttons pinned to it. Tim’s not possitive but he thinks he sees a high powered nuclear weapon next to that button wearing, worst interpretation of the antichrist ever, hippie fag. then, without warning, the hand of god decends upon the crowed, and detonates the warhead...)

Tim> WHAT!!!!!!!!! eight hundred fucking pages and that’s the best he could do!!! Hand of GOD! WHAT THE FUCK!
El> WoWoWoWoWoW! you read a book?
Tim> you know what I think.
El> huh?
Tim> Sean shouldn’t write these when he’s this drunk... he just gets angry.
El> true... jealousy isn’t a pretty thing.
Tim> it’s sad really. and talk about week endings...
El> (He puts his ghosty hand on Tims shoulder) Lets go get that drink...

(and that they did.)