Ass Clown Parade

The Ass Clown Parade.

 

I started working at the age of 13. I’m almost certain that every job since then has had an Ass Clown either as a coworker or heaven forbid, the boss.

 

I swear sometimes I’ve been put on this earth to endure and survive Ass Clowns. I must be paying some sort of Karmic debt or as Nietzsche so astutely pointed out, “Hell is other people.”

 

What’s an Ass Clown? Well, that may be open to debate, but only an Ass Clown would want to debate that. If you have to ask, then chances are you might just be an Ass Clown yourself.

 

The majority of Ass Clowns in my life have been either sawed off little self centered power hungry micromanaging control freaks or brain dead old skags who can only see things in black and white.

 

Sometimes Ass Clowns are easy to spot by the nature of their uniform and their utility belt of power control apparatuses, which usually is accompanied by the almighty name tag with title.

 

See Ass Clowns have no real authority in the world so they have to try to fool themselves and the unsuspecting naïve good hearted but doomed masses with their Ass Clown regalia. They have no real authority as they themselves are no authority on anything pertinent or real that can make a difference is peoples lives for the better.

 

Ass Clowns like to drape themselves in titles, awards, certificates, and PHD’s in bull shit studies that would confab the most saturated academic somnambulist.

 

Still, we seem to be up to our collective necks with Ass Clowns. I blame consumer materialism as it seems to generate Ass Clowns like mold in a gym locker.

 

Perhaps it’s a genetic trait. Could there be an Ass Clown gene? How else can such abhorrent behavior to fellow human beings be so naturally and clueless engaged in?

 

I’ll be honest, when we as Americans allowed the king of Ass Clowns to stay in the white house a second time I thought the end was nigh. I packed up what was left of my sanity and got the hell out of the country. I was a wide eye fool to think that I could escape the Ass Clown factor in my life.

 

Thanks to globalization, Ass Clownery seems to be rampant on the planet. In my travels, I’ve managed to continue to run into their ilk in a variety of nations, races, and flavors.

 

We as Americans do not have the market cornered on Ass Clowns. Yet we’re very well represented by them in the mass media and in some bizarre twisted curse of fate this has help generate the new breed of globalized Ass Clowns.

 

Hell. I’m just as exhausted pointing this out, as I am when dealing with an Ass Clown in person.

 

I’ve tried a range of remedies in my lifetime to rid myself of these masters of time suckage but with little success, as no sooner do you cut the head or legs off one does another seem to pop up like the human boil they are.

 

I’ve tried kindness, understanding, avoidance, and even violence. Nothing seems to be effective.  The simple fact is that you can not change an Ass Clown.

 

The best you can do is to try to minimize your exposure to them. Over the years I’ve tried to be my own boss (which is can be a slippery slope to becoming and Ass Clown if you have more than one employee other than yourself), to working for small somewhat forgotten employers in jobs than no one else would really want in places no one else also would really go to.

 

“You have a problem with authority!” Maybe so, but only an Ass Clown would point that out.

 

I also recommend just saying “No” to Ass Clowns and their grocery list of demands. You have to be firm and willing to walk away or be removed from your situation when taking this strategy. The reality is that in either case, you will indeed be better off in the long run. Familiarity breeds contempt and if one can accept the fact that Ass Clowns are everywhere, what do you really have to lose? At least you may gain some peace of mind, even if only momentarily.

 

Ultimately there is no solution to dealing with this vermin. It honestly seems part of human nature. I can only hope that George Carlin was right and that eventually this planet will shake us all off like a bunch of fleas.

 

In the meantime, Ass Clowns are doing their damdest to get off the planet they have managed to turn into a smog filled smoldering ball of shit. Ass Clowns in space! That’s the cockroach nature of Ass Clowns, to do everything within their reach to keep and propagate their Ass Clown way of life.

 

Until then, I’m refusing to salute the Ass Clown Parade. I’d ask you to join me…but that would make me an Ass Clown too.

Being a Foreigner in China is like being a Panda

Wicked Pissah

June 9, 2010 05:48

I’m slow to rise today. The alarm on my phone vibrating on a plastic tote signaled the Sandman to stop the somnambulist gang rape of my subconscious. I was tired. I’m not sure how it happens, but it does.

Yesterday was a long day. Eighteen hours of Full China Mental Jacket will do that to a person. The students are burned out with only a few weeks in the term and there apathy is contagious. I struggled to get through the last class and the best comment I got from the passive learners was, “it’s over, it’s like torture” when the last bell rang.

A jumpy bumpy bus ride along traffic filled “Rice Runners” made for the usual quirky jerk commute home. I had the driver stop about a block from the last stop so we could join our crazy hairdresser for a “Chinese Baby Boy Party”. Another hour later found us stuck in traffic, again somewhere deep in the ceramic district of Foshan. There is just a point in a foreigner’s existence here that you just have to let go.  Seriously, there was no reason to get up tight. How could I. I had absolutely no control over the situation. We were cramped in a car with total strangers, listening to really bad cover music, going to an unknown destination, for vague reasons, at this point you have remind yourself, “This is China” and “who needs LSD?” The surreal effect of all the strange yet familiar situations can really make you laugh as opposed to getting extremely pissed off. It’s a balancing act over the high wire act of culture shock that affects your total being. While sitting on the bridge doing your best clown car impression for a micro eternity and Hong Kong film star Andy Lau warbling Roy Orbinson’s Pretty Woman with a series of mondagreens like, “Pretty woman won’t you stay a why” and “looka my why” at quadraphonic volumes, you know that Rod Serling is narrating the scene as Timothy Leary laughs. You just have to let go.

Take Me to Your Leader

In my case I bite my tongue as not to bust out chortling, as mind drifts to other wacky Chinese car adventures. After a few minutes of earthquake survivor contortions, I manage to fish my cell phone out from under me and my balls that I’m sitting on in the world’s smallest Buick. I needed to share the madness with my friend Danny Valenzuela, who was trapped in a similar situation with me in Beijing last summer. The only thing different was in that car there was also a drunken mad Canadian who had to piss so bad that he nearly jumped out of the moving vehicle in the middle of eight way traffic intersection.  His agitations lead to a string of obscenities that poor local driver could understand in any language. “Tell this fucker to stop the car! I’ve got to take a godamn leak! No seriously, make him stop, the shit head. I’ll piss his fucking seat, son of bitch!” This of course only made him drive faster and more reckless through the busy streets. Somewhere between being frustrated that Canadian Yosemite Sam was going to get us all killed and that we warned him not down a twelve pack of beer before the long ride, does the payoff come. His crescendo of cussing, cursing and pleading the driver to stop to let him piss ends instantly with a defeated, “there is goes…I pissed myself.” Danny and I are doubled up trying not to laugh aloud as it would be cruel. It was one of those stifling attempts of “don’t look at me” or bust out laughing. We were in agony, snorting and chortling like Bevis and Butthead. After a few minutes, I catch my breath and ask The Canadian “is it bad?” “Hell, I’m still going!” Which of course kills us all over again, as what has to be the longest piss ever taken by a human, but the fact that it’s happening in the front seat of a crazy Beijing taxi ride elevates the insanity to Cheech and Chong levels. It was the calm after the storm that left us in stitches. The quiet resolve of this mad man once he pissed himself left us scarred for life. Upon arriving at the hostel, Yosemite slowly gets out and throws some money at the driver. We amble out of the back with our luggage and watch the cabbie pull up the piss soaked passenger floor mat with a quizzical look as if he had witnessed a magic trick like, “where all this liquid come from.” We stumble our way up the Hutong to the reception desk, with The Canadian bluntly telling everyone and anyone repeatedly, “I pissed my pants”.  The fact they were also canary yellow with a pair of pink Crocs only added to the full of effect of what the fuck just happened. Like I said when you are functionally illiterate in Chinese, sometimes you just have to let go. Even if it’s in your pants, “Pretty woe mon, want jew stay aaah whyyyyyyyy!”