YOU'RE AN ORDINARY FUCKING GUY AND YOU WORK A SHITTY, BORING JOB; LIKE AN ACCOUNTANT OR SOME SHIT. NOTHING ABOUT YOUR LIFE IS INTERESTING, EXCEPT FOR YOUR UNYIELDING DESIRE TO FUCK A CLOWN. IT ALL BEGAN A FEW SUMMERS AGO WHEN YOU ACCIDENTALLY JERKED OFF TO AN ICP MUSIC VIDEO. EVER SINCE THEN, IT'S ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT. THAT'S WHY YOU'RE HERE TONIGHT, IN YOUR SHITTY APARTMENT, STANDING SILENTLY BY THE DOOR LIKE A FAT SLOB WAITING FOR THE PIZZA GUY. THE ESCORT SERVICE YOU BOOKED THROUGH ASSURED YOU THE GIRL THEY'RE SENDING IS A PROFESSIONAL. YOU HEAR AN OBNOXIOUSLY LOUD AND LONG SERIES OF KNOCKS ON THE DOOR. YOU WHIP IT OPEN FASTER THAN THE DOOR ON A MICROWAVE FULL OF BAGEL BITES (FAT SLOB). THERE SHE IS IN ALL OF HER GLORY - A REAL LIFE CLOWN WITH BRIGHT RED HAIR AND BIG SILLY TITS. SHE DOESN'T WASTE ANY TIME. SHE REACHES UNDER HER SKIRT AND PULLS OUT HER PANTIES. THEN SHE KEEPS PULLING THEM OUT. ONE BY ONE, ALL TIED TOGETHER IN A SEEMINGLY ENDLESS ROPE. THIS GOES ON FOR A WHILE, FOLLOWED BY MORE MAGIC TRICKS. SHE EVEN TRIES MAKING SOME BALLOON ANIMALS BUT SHE KEEPS ACCIDENTALLY POPPING ALL THE FUCKING BALLOONS. YOU'RE CONFUSED, BUT ALSO INSECURE ABOUT YOUR COMPLETE LACK OF CLOWNFUCKING EXPERIENCE. YOU DECIDE NOT TO QUESTION ANYTHING AND JUST GO WITH IT. WITHOUT WARNING, SHE PULLS OUT A SPRAY BOTTLE FULL OF SELTZER AND PROCEEDS TO SOAK EVERYTHING IN YOUR SHITTY APARTMENT LIKE SHE'S FIGHTING AN INVISIBLE FIRE. YOU BECOME LESS TURNED ON AND MORE ANNOYED AS HER BUFFOONERY CONTINUES. YOU RECALL THE ESCORT SERVICE WARNING YOU SHE WAS A SQUIRTER, BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS. AS DISAPPOINTED AS YOU ARE, YOU TELL YOURSELF THAT YOU STILL HAVE THE FINALE TO LOOK FORWARD TO. YOU PAID AN EXTRA $50 FOR THE “CREAMPIE SPECIAL”, AFTER ALL. YOU LOOK OVER AND SHE'S HOLDING A PIE TIN FILLED WITH WHIPPED CREAM. YOUR DISAPPOINTMENT HAS REACHED ITS THRESHOLD AND YOU DECIDE YOU'VE HAD ENOUGH. BUT WHILE YOU'RE TRYING TO REMEMBER THE SAFEWORD, SHE'S GETTING A RUNNING START. SHE SMASHES YOU IN THE FUCKING FACE WITH ALL OF HER STRENGH, SENDING YOU FLYING ACROSS THE ROOM. THE IMPACT ALSO SOMEHOW MAKES YOUR PANTS FALL DOWN. AND YOUR UNDERWEAR. AS YOU LAY THERE, PANTS AROUND YOUR ANKLES, COVERED IN WHIPPED CREAM AND SELTZER, SHE LEANS OVER AND HONKS YOUR BALLSACK LIKE A BICYCLE HORN. YOU PASS OUT FOR A FEW HOURS. WHEN YOU WAKE UP, SHE'S GONE AND NOW YOU FUCKING HATE CLOWNS.
