back and fff-ing

i got back from australia yesterday (i think) at some hour that made no sense to my body anyway, and was thinking about taking the rest of the weekend off to deal with jetlag, especially since i wasn't mentally prepared to deal with the pile of festering shit this machine has become, but when i went to look for jj and discovered we'd almost lost him, i had to jump in and show some support. so big-up to the purgatorian for surviving to serve my literary needs (both reading+writing), here's my first flash fiction friday of the year (missed fff#21) and stories of oz sooncome.

The mourners arrived just in time dressed as clowns... as per my last request. i'd been beginning to wonder if an executive decision had been made against their prescence when i wasn't paying attention, and was already smoldering @ the edges, preparing to burn eternally over anybody labelling my wishes too ridiculous for death- especially now that i knew i was right, and they were themselves clueless, ill-prepared, and pooh-poohing the one good idea about handling passing through that they'd ever been privy to.
i'd seen toward the end that the only way to pass through successfully was to face all fear and leave it behind.
hence, the clowns: the only thing that still scared me after all those years.
i didn't know if it was the makeup, the weird music, the too-tiny cars, the outfits, the balloon-squeak, or that "freaks'n'geeks" porno i'd seen while still too young to handle the sight of the clown fucking the midget chick in ballerina costume on the birthday cake for the 400lb guy wearing the diaper+bib...
clowns are fucked up, man...
but i'd had the foresight to amend my will appropriately the day after the revelation about facing fears, and now, they'd sent in the clowns.
not that i'd looked closely yet- still scared, i was delaying inspection and introspection by mulling over the reasons for what i was pretty sure was an irrational fear, then smugly pointing out to myself that if it was indeed irrational, it followed that there was no real reason.
sometimes i was such a prick.
anyway. the time had come. the way i figured it i'd be passing through @ the close of the 3rd day (standard time lapse before rising again), so i'd also specified the service was to be held within 63hours (yes, you can usually book a coupla clowns on such short notice, and failing that, you call professional mourners and just tell them there's a dress code, which i now knew because the incapables i'd left behind had to fall back on the latter option). they'd (of course) pushed the time limit, so i had roughly the next hour to come to grips with the physical manifestation of clowns, then another 3 to contemplate and overcome before time would cease to count.
i scanned the group of wackos, settled on the least alarming one and took inventory- mentally detailing their absurdity could only help me recognise there was nothing to fear. right?
but as i tried to focus, all i could think was, "where's the midget ballerina?".
and that was it.
the more i tried to work through the clown-thing, the more i had the urge to laugh hysterically.
finally, i remembered nobody else could hear me anyway and erupted into a rolling-on-the-floor-it-hurts-but-i-can't-stop belly laugh (except without the actual soreness- or ability to roll on the floor, due to my recent lack of solidity).
i got it.
i finally got the joke.
it's not the clowns, it's clown dick that's funny..."

walk good.