The Voices

Then I matriculated to Phase 3, where I started having some fun with the Snidely Snotworth types. When they asked the Big Question, I’d go all hunchy-shouldered an’ secretive, then lean in close and mutter, “Because of the voices, ya know?”

“The VOICES?” — sniveled the Snidelies, suddenly scaredy-cattish.

“Oh, yeah, the voices … They told me to be, you know, prepared for when the killer clowns come …” I’d furtively goggle around. “The voices say the killer clowns are comin’ … They’re cannibals, some of ’em, and …”

About that time the Snidelies would be skitterin’ away like mice on polished marble. One even tripped over his tasseled loafers and did a face-plant in the foliage. I’d say I felt bad about that, but … I didn’t.

Yeah, I know, the “killer clowns” answer might not have been “helpful,” but it did just as much good as giving S&A answers to the sheeple, and it was a lot more fun for me. And I know too that talking about it with you folks is what we call “preaching to the choir.” You already know why we carry these cannons. But sometimes, just sometimes, we all need a little reminder. That includes me, and I’ve got one to share with you. One that got me where I live.