So I was at the gym last night, sweating like a mofo and trying to figure out the FM tuner on my brand new cutting-edge-if-it-were-2003 mp3 player. I stumbled along on the treadmill, trying to simultaneously stay upright as well as figure out how to do anything other than autoscan for stations when an ad came on which I’d never heard before.

It was for some sort of circus-themed weekend festivities. At the Hustler Club.

What?

There were mentions of trapeze acts, a special Hustler Ringmaster, circus foods, and also…wait for it…  “sexy clowns”.

No. Nuh uh. No way.

Clowns are not sexy. Clowns cannot be sexy. Clowns are terrifying.

Clowns, it is widely agreed upon, exist solely for the purpose of killing young children in terrible, nightmarish ways. Clowns think puppies are pretty tasty too. Clowns have been known to hide under your bed waiting to grab any dangling limbs while you sleep. Clowns are agents of the damned whose only goal is to brutally attack all that is good and honest and pure.

Sexy? I don’t think so.  I can think of nothing more traumatic than combining boobies (which are good) and clowns (which are scaaary).

So have fun, people who are attending circus weekend at the Hustler Club.  While you’re having your soul sucked out by one of the garishly-painted Unforgiven, I’ll be safe and sound in my gloriously clown-free home.