Am I a clown? Do I make you laugh?
K. A. Laity
It was the clown.
The party had been lively enough before her arrival. Shrieking children seemed to entertain themselves for a while. She promised fun on her website—that balloon-littered vomit of coarse Pantone tones with too many gurning GIFsa and autoplay videos. That should have been a warning flag. It had been almost impossible to find the contact info. But they persisted: she was local.
Nothing in her arrival suggested more than the usual horrors offace paint, oversized shoes and a larger-than-life‘personality’ as promised.
But the children were weeping now and several demanded to go home. Unmitigated disaster.
Not everyone could tell jokes, eh? But most would avoid actually blowing up a hamster.
They would never look at a balloon without shuddering now.