Foxy Wine Pocket

Me, uncensored.

How to Prank Your Neighbors with Dismembered Clowns

By

How to Prank Your Neighbors with Dismembered Clowns @foxywinepocket #clownsarentfunny #poltergeist #imsomean

My freighbors (friends + neighbors) and my family had an epic block party on our street for Labor Day. (Actually it was the day before Labor Day because we need like to have Monday to recover. Genius, right?) As with all of our block parties, we obtained a permit to close down the street; we rented a bouncy house to babysit entertain the kids; and we had a shit-ton of delicious food and drink. (My freighbors are some seriously good cooks and bartenders.)

Sometimes we even like to kick the parties up a notch with a theme that includes decorations, games, and crafts for the kids. This time some asshole very creative type picked a circus theme for the party. Now I don’t mind circus themes in general, but you know what evil lurks at the circus, right? CLOWNS. Fucking clowns are always at the circus, and I HATE clowns. Fortunately for me, my freighbors promised no actual clowns—just some fun, circusy goodness.

And they delivered. We had:

  • Tattoos and face paint
  • Silly rainbow hats
  • Inflatable, squeaky monkeys
  • A make-your-own-set-of-juggling-balls craft (hehe, I said “balls”)
  • A dress-up photo booth
  • Cotton candy, peanuts, and popcorn

We even had a ferocious lion:

Lion at the Block Party

Watch out—he’ll lick you to death.

I was having a great time at the party just drinking relaxing and enjoying the company of my freighbors, but then out of the blue came the piñata. Not just any piñata—it was a CLOWN piñata. I could see that beast from across the street. After I shuddered and initiated breathing exercises to calm myself down, I put down my drink and walked over for a full inspection. Maybe I was initiating exposure therapy. Or maybe (more likely) I just wanted to see the kids beat the shit out of that clown. Whatever was driving me, I HAD to watch.

Dozens of kids lined up to get their turn at bat. I watched with glee and delight. I giggled hysterically each time they hit that clown. It gave me a possibly unhealthy amount of satisfaction watching this clown take repeated blows to the head. And then, some child actually beheaded the clown. The evil clown face went sailing through the air (leaving the piñata and all of its contents intact) and landed on the lawn. (I may have screamed with delight.)

That’s when I made my move. I HAD TO HAVE THAT CLOWN HEAD. Running into the crowd, my eyes were locked on my target. Pushing children out of my way, I lunged for that head. I grabbed it and held it in my hands, laughing like a maniac. I held my trophy high—pretending blood was dripping from the neck.

I keep singing Fish Heads whenever I see this photo. (Full the complete effect, watch the full film.)

I keep singing Fish Heads whenever I see this photo. (For the complete effect, watch the full film.)

The prize was MINE. ALL MINE. Holding the treasure in my shaking hands, I debated what to do with it:

  • Put it on a stake and leave it out as a warning to all clowns everywhere?
  • Pour lighter fluid on it and burn it on the BBQ?
  • Rip it to shreds with my teeth and bare hands?

No, none of those was right. I knew exactly what I was going to do with it: wrap it up and send it to Ashley at Big Top Family for her epic 40th birthday celebration. Plan in place, I turned my attention back to the kids beating the decapitated clown body. They finally broke the piñata, and candy and sugar-coated dreams went flying in every direction.

After the kids had filled their bags with sweetened meltdowns, I went around collecting clown parts. I decided that the only thing better than a clown head for Ashley would be a completely dismembered clown carcass.

It's totally normal to obsess over a dismembered clown, right?

It’s totally normal to obsess over a dismembered clown, right?

Clown carnage collected, I turned to walk back to my drinking chair to enjoy the rest of the festivities. Before I could take two steps, however, my freighbor Debbie stopped me to ask about the clown head.

Debbie: Oh, can I see that for a second?
Me (holding the pieces tighter and closer to my body): Uhhh. No. They’re mine.
Debbie: I just need to show the head to my husband. Hugh’s not going to believe this.
Me (loosening my death grip a little): What do you mean?
Debbie: Well, you remember that movie Poltergeist?
Me (gritting my teeth): Of course…
Debbie: So there was an evil clown in Poltergeist. And every night I check under the bed to see if that clown is there.
Me (realizing that crazy wasn’t contained to just me): Really?
Debbie: Yeah, I do. It’s ridiculous, I know. I have to show Hugh; he will laugh so hard.

Just as I was about to hand over the precious clown head, Debbie was interrupted by her son who needed some help with his bag of sugar and hysteria. I took that opportunity to get away with my clown body parts. I ran quickly. Because I had a new plan. (Sorry, Ashley. No clown for you!)

I grabbed my evil twin, Starla, and explained my scheme. (She is an actual person, not a figment of my imagination. She’s just the prettier, healthier, smarter version of me.) Without hesitation, she nodded, grabbed my hand, and led me down the street. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get into Debbie’s house because there were witnesses people standing outside. We needed a valid reason to get into her home. I had to find her husband, Hugh. Frantically, I scanned the street. When I found him, I practically knocked him over as I breathlessly explained my evil plot. He laughed and replied, “That’s awesome.”

And then he led me inside of his house. Where I did this:

Sweet dreams, Debbie...

Sweet dreams, Debbie…

And then I waited … waited for the report from Hugh on how Debbie reacted when she discovered the horror under her bed. I was hoping for an account of screams and/or tears and/or maybe a little pee. Unfortunately for me, Debbie passed out that night (block parties are HARD work, people) and didn’t look under her bed. And THEN she went out of town on a business trip.

So I waited. And waited.

Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine. I kept texting Hugh repeatedly to see when his wife would get home. To see if she had discovered our present left so carefully under the bed. I was starting to think that he had blocked me when he sent me this sad, sad text: “Our son found it last night. He played with it and made a giant mess. I had to throw it out before she even saw it.”

Well, fuck. There went my brilliant plan … all the way to hell.

So … now I’m working on Plan B…

Mannequin Heads


Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Comments

  3. Love this post, mostly because a) I hate clowns and b) I’m evil in the “fun evil” way that you obviously are as well. My hatred stems from a skit on Sesame Street that I remember when I was really young that showed a clown up close taking off his makeup. I would go screaming throughout the house every time it came on. Fun times! (Give me that stick so I can bash the hell out of of that pinata.)

  4. My brother once got a Winnie the Pooh pinata for my niece’s birthday. I don’t know what was funnier: the kids who were crying because my brother ended up ripping Winnie’s head off to get at the candy or the kids that didn’t care that they were beating Winnie the Pooh because he had candy in him.

  5. First off, you are the anti-christ. Or the anti-clown. Whatever. And that being said, I’m sort of sad I didn’t get a dismembered clown in the mail! Damn that Debbie and her Coulrophobia! I loved this – you knew I would!

    • HAHAHAHAHAHA! I was sort of sad I didn’t get to send it to you as well. So consider this post your gift! 😉

  8. I’m preparing to scare the hell out of my 18 year old daughter Jordan. She is relentless towards her little brothers & scares them constantly. My plan…
    I am going to staple a long black wig from the corner of her room, grudge like…and wait for her to come home late Friday. Did I mention she is terrified of the grudge & won’t even step foot into a Chinese restaurant. Lol

    • It really is a crime. Perhaps the next prank should be directed at Hugh.

      Also, there’s a house on the corner for sale RIGHT NOW.

  11. Clowns are the kings of suck. I developed a clown phobia since about age 8 when my parents put a hideous charcoal drawing of a clown (done by some hack local artist) on my wall. Every night I looked over and swore that the eyes were moving, and had to go lift up the painting to make sure there were no eye slots in the wall. Took me about 3 years to say anything.

    My daughters love that I have clown phobia. The younger one contracted pneumonia and swine flu when she was 7, the only time I have been truly scared for my either of my daughters’ imminent survival. As she struggled for breath through her oxygen mask in the ER, and I tried to fight back tears and my worried expression, she pointed to her chest and in a garbled voice said something softly. I leaned in, figuring it was something about her struggle to breathe, and asked her “What honey?”. After a couple of more attempts with the word and pointing to her chest I realized she was saying “Clowns!” pointing to the clown design on her hospital johnny. Taunting me. I figured she was going to be OK then. At least in a short-term physical way.

    • My clown phobia developed at my grandparents’ house–they had clowns EVERYWHERE. And I absolutely love that story about your daughter. Not the part about the illness and hospitalization, of course.

  13. Love this! You are a lady after my own dark, evil heart. More fun w/ heads: every xmas my mom puts out these little choir kids, a boy and girl, and they light up. Every xmas my sister and I remove their heads and hide them around the house waiting for her to discover them. Sick family fun!

  14. I need to get me a clown piñata! I will hollow it out for the candy then leave it under the covers for my husband to find. He is very upset around clowns and I think this would be funny. Does that make me evil? I’d like to be evil.

  16. I am torn between wanting you to be my freighbor and making sure you stay far away, because seriously….is there anything scarier than a freaking clown???

    • There is nothing scarier than a freaking clown. And I’m leaning toward you wanting to be my freighbor. I make bacon nuts, toffee brownies, and sangria regularly.

  17. Does anyone really like clowns?! I’m sorry your evil plot was foiled, Foxy, but I’m liking Plan B a LOT so far.

    • Ashley (www.bigtopfamily.com) actually LOVES clowns. I love her, despite that fact.

      There will be a Plan B. Although after Debbie reads this, it might be on me.

  18. Remind me to tell you about the clown stripper that my “friends” got me for my birthday. O. M. G. 🙁

  20. That’s right, Huge – blame it on your kid! I think it’s more likely that YOU had second thoughts because you knew Debbie would blame you for letting that clown in the door in the first place. You probably had a little backyard bonfire while she was out of town – or you disposed of the remains in the trash, unconcerned of the trauma the garbage man might have to endure when he saw the face peering at him out of the darkness. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

  21. Hahahaha, you’re a wicked bitch of a woman, aren’t you? That would have been hilarious! Stupid kids always ruin things.

    I also think I hate your neighbors for going so all out on a Labor Day gathering. We do the same thing whenever we can, but it’s mostly just adults getting drunk around a fire pit while the kids run around unsupervised. I’m going to look into upping the game at our next gathering just so I’ll have a post to write about it.

    • “Stupid kids already ruin things.” YES INDEED. I’m not agreeing with anything else you’ve commented though. 😉

  23. UGH! what a let down! What is that kid doing under their bed! what a downer.

    I would be scouring the internet for another clown head. (is that one of the phrases the NSA looks for?) Whatever. It would be worth it.

  24. There’s a Facebook page that I like called “Not being murdered by clowns.” They haven’t been active lately. But I’m going to share this on that page. And then you will be joined with your people.

  25. Oh my goodness. That photo of it under the bed is so deliciously terrifying. I kind of adore you for putting it under her bed like that. Nothing is more wonderful than playing on our loved one’s worst fears.

  26. “Nothing is more wonderful than playing on our loved one’s worst fears.” Well, geez. Now you just make me feel bad. Nah. Not really.

Trackbacks

  3. […] This past weekend, my freighbors (neighbors who are also friends) and I were sitting around a fire pit, drinking wine, and shooting the shit. We told stories of past parties, neighbors we have violated, and other ridiculous shenanigans. […]