I don’t know if you know this but I hate clowns. They are one of my top phobias. I absolutely can’t stand them.

“That’s an odd thing to be afraid of,” you might say. “Aren’t clowns suppose to be fun and generally make you happy?”

Well that would be true if they were not, in fact, the anti-Christ.

Clowns are like mimes: in concept they are fine and dandy, but in reality they are very frightening. I mean, there are enough real retards in the world; do I really need to see someone struggling to get out of an invisible box? Anyone who would put on face makeup, grin like an idiot, and act like a total tool just rubs me the wrong way. (That’s right drunk girl, I’m looking at you too!)

But I’m not afraid of mimes or drunk girls, just clowns.

“Why is that?” you might say.

Well, besides the fact that they are just pure evil (why else would Stephen King make the villain of one of his scariest books, It, a clown? It is the supreme example of evil, and it is, in fact, a clown.) I once had a bad run in with a clown that scarred me for life.

(This is like one of my first memories, mind you. That’s how far the clowns have gotten under my skin.)

When I was really little, like four or something like that, my parents took me to the circus. I was all into it. I loved all the exotic, endangered animals that they paraded around. I loved the acrobatics and the women wearing clothes a young child only sees on the Brazilian equivalent of Sesame Street. I loved the bright colors and the atmosphere, the sights, the smells, the atmosphere of it all.

And then, It happened. I’m walking around with my parents when out behind from me jumps this giant (remember I am only four) monster which looks like a crayon box puked on It. It starts laughing like a crazed lunatic and shouting out gibberish, waving its hands around in my face, and I’m supposed to find THIS funny? It scared the ever living shit out of me! The satanic makeup, the fashion disaster clothes, the brightly colored afros–This is what the mutant survivors of the nuclear apocalypse would look like. They look like a melting Van Gogh painting come to life, dancing like a Mexican paper skeleton. Are they suppose to be funny? Really?

Anyway, the probably very good natured clown scared the bajesus out of me, to which I started to cry, and only to make things worse the clown tried to make me laugh to stop the crying (as clowns are wont to do). This only made the situation worse, so much so that my parents had to take me out of the circus tent, tears streaming down my face while I wailed at the top of my lungs.

To make matters worse, my parents tried to cheer me up with Circus Peanuts. Have you ever had a circus peanut? Then you know what I’m talking about.

I still can’t stand Clowns to this very day. I know they are evil. Just look at them. Anyone who would do that to themselves is obviously mad. If I see a clown on the street I won’t run away screaming or anything, but I will start to walk the other way. I get really on edge when I see one. I don’t doubt that I might deck one one day if they happened to try to play pick on me, as they are known to do.

This is probably why I can’t stand anyone who approaches me in the name of “fun”. I almost decked a Christmas Carol heckler once for this very reason.

So if you ever see a clown, just kick him in the balls for me, won’t you? Their kind need to be wiped off the face of the planet. Never trust a clown.