Thursday, August 6, 1998

Clown College Reunion


Various CLOWNS are hanging around in costume. There's a shitty table with cheap Hawaiian punch and plastic cups. A cheap vinyl banner reads KLOWN KOLLEGE WELKOMES GRADUATES. The Clown College was obviously not well funded -- especially its spelling department. That said, there's a rough, working class esprit. Then RONALD MCDONALD walks in -- in full regalia. It's like Hitler walking into a delicatessen. The talk and laughter dies. They look at him with open hostility.

BEPPO: Well look what the cat dragged in.

The CLOWNS turn their backs on RONALD -- go back to talking.

RONALD: Hi guys.

They ignore him.

RONALD: Hi guys.

CHUCKO: (raspy, Tom Waits-esque delivery) We heard you the first time, Corporate Clown.

BEPPO: Fucking sell out.

RONALD: Hey. I can’t help it if I’m successful!

FISTY: No. I’m sure you earned it. Sucked Mayor McCheese’s cock or something.

RONALD: What’s your problem?

CHUCKO: You! That face you’re wearing is a rip-off.

RONALD: What do you mean rip-off?

CHUCKO: What do I mean? Shit. You’re Bozo the Clown with a few modifications!

BEPPO: Yeah, asshole. You ain't worthy to lick Bozo's big shoes.


FISTY gets in RONALD's face.

FISTY: And you can thank your lucky stars Larry Harmon ain’t here, pal. He’s got a can of whoop-ass with your name on it. Extra large economy size. He told me personally.


RONALD: What are you saying?

CHUCKO: What am I saying? Well. The long and the short of it. The gist in a nutshell. (honks bicycle horn) Fuck you, Corporate Clown.

BEPPO: Yeah. How can you live with yourself?

RONALD: Hey, come on. Gosh, you guys are dark. Hey. You're clowns! You're supposed to spread happiness!

FISTY: You too, right? So ... Kill yourself. That'll make us happy.

They laugh.

RONALD: You hate me. You really hate me.

BEPPO: No shit, Einstein.


BEPPO: "Why?" Jesus, look at the fucking martyr, Why do you think? Cause we're good at what we do and we're starving to death. Clown-wise, you suck donkey dick -- and you're fucking rich!

RONALD: I don't suck!

BEPPO: Ahhhh! There's a picture of you next to the word "suck" in the dictionary.

RONALD: Why do I suck? (beat) In your opinion?

BEPPO: Why? Come on! That magic you do on TV? You hold out your fucking hand. There's a sloppy edit. All of a sudden there's a fucking hamburger. I hate that shit! It’s not real magic. It’s a fucking camera trick!

CHUCKO: You make the rest of us look bad.

RONALD: No I ...

CHUCKO: Yeah, you do, Ronald. Fake magic. (solemnly) That’s against the clown code.

CLOWNS: (in unison) All glory to the sacred clown code.

They honk their bicycle horns in unison.

RONALD: Clown code? I never understood that ...

CHUCKO: No shit, Corporate Clown. It's in code. We're fucking clowns so we understand it. You ain't no clown. So you don't.

RONALD: (weakly) I am too a clown!


They laugh.

CHUCKO: Listen, Ronald. Let me 'splain it to you. You're fucking simple-minded. So I'll make it real simple. (walks up to him, puts arm around his shoulder) See. If I cover you with black shoe polish, that don’t make you a black man. If I cover you with white face, that don’t make you a clown. Wow. (looks at him) Nice job with the lipstick.

RONALD pushes him away.

RONALD: Yeah, yeah. Very funny.

FISTY: He's been practicing.

BEPPO: Yeah. Ever since he put on his mommy's dresses.

The CLOWNS laugh.

RONALD: Yeah. Ha-ha. Laugh it up, Mr. Superior. You're a clown and I'm not.

CHUCKO: Exactly. We have reached a meeting of the minds. Now get lost and stay that way.

RONALD: I've got a right to be here!

CHUCKO: No, you don't. This is a clown thing. You wouldn't understand.

RONALD: Yeah, yeah. So what makes you a clown?

CHUCKO: Man ... If you gotta fucking ask you’ll never know.

RONALD: I'm a clown, OK? I went to clown college!

BEPPO: Come on. Jerry Lewis went to medical school. That don't make him a fucking doctor.

CLOWNS: (in unison) La-la! Nice lady!

CHUCKO: Face it, Corporate Clown. You were the worst. Bottom of the class.

RONALD: I ... I wasn't the worst.

CHUCKO: Jesus, OK. Think back, Ronald. You graduated 299 in a class of 310. So what? Strictly speaking, those other 11 clowns were all "special needs" types enrolled for tax purposes, so they don't count.


CHUCKO: Face facts, jerk. You were a fuck-up at pie throwing, a fuck-up at seltzer, a disgrace at pratfalls. I could go on, but you get my drift. You got a clown diploma. It don't mean shit. You ain't no clown.

RONALD: I can do magic!

CHUCKO: Sure you can.

RONALD: I can do magic!

BEPPO: What are you gonna do? Pull a coin outta my fucking ear?

RONALD: (taking out deck of cards with a McDonalds logo on the back) Pick a card. Any card.

CHUCKO: Fuck you, Corporate Clown. Like we trust your deck?

RONALD: OK. And I'm sure you all brought your own ...

Instantly, the CLOWNS all whip out decks of cards. Each clown removes one card.

CHUCKO: Your move, Corporate Clown.

RONALD: OK. Uh. You. (points to FISTY - closes eyes) Ace of spades.

FISTY: Three of clubs, dickwad.

RONALD: OK. (points to BEPPO) Four of diamonds.

BEPPO: Suicide king.

CLOWNS: (in unison, with disgust) Ahhh, fooey on you.

They all throw their cards at him.

RONALD: Come on, guys. There's more to clowning than magic! There’s comedy!

BEPPO: You ain’t funny.

RONALD: There’s juggling!

FISTY: OK. Juggle.

FISTY throws him three oranges. RONALD tries to juggle – then fumbles. The oranges fall to the floor.

FISTY: Three strikes you’re out.

RONALD: OK. (thinks) What about pratfalls?

CHUCKO: Don't hurt yourself, asshole. We ain't insured.

RONALD: Watch this!

He does a half-assed backflip. He flings himself into the table. The punch bowl and plastic glasses go flying.

RONALD: Owww! My back! My fucking back! Oh God, it hurts!

The CLOWNS watch as RONALD is wheeled into an ambulance on a gurney.

RONALD: I can't feel my legs! I can't feel my legs!

CHUCKO: Now that’s funny!

They laugh.

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