Clowns – I hate them. HATE. Probably because I fear them – how do you trust someone under all that hair and makeup. Don’t get me started on the red nose.
I know I’m not the only one. There are millions of us who suffer from coulrophobia: fear of clowns.
I’ve written about it a ton of times here, like when I read Stephen King’s It in the third grade. Yay – parenting skills!
I crept around my parents’ house for about a decade, sure that Pennywise was just waiting in the heating vent to kill me.
So guess what I did last week? Started rereading It again. The lights in the house have not been turned off in six days and I make sure I’m never walking around the house alone.
This week I learned that there is no method to my madness and:
- I told people I was related to Prince
- I am no longer a party pooper
- I need a James Bay hat to survive the apocalypse
The interwebs is full of stupid things that I will eventually click on:
- my hometown college – the University of Washington – put up this stupid infographic of attire and body do’s and don’ts. The hell are they thinking?
- what if Bernie Sanders was George Costanza on Seinfeld?
- Will Ferrell vs. Chad Smith drum-off
- Brit tabloid The Sun asked women to send in pics of their cleavage in exchange of $1,000. Then they got what they asked for – heavy trolling.