Maybe you recognize the above headline from a classic scene in Goodfellas. It’s an accusatory question about being seen as a clown. Like you’re some buffoon joker there to be funny. But it’s unlikely they’re here to amuse you. Joe Pesci said the line to the late Ray Liotta, who was no clown portraying the character Henry Hill, who was a real-life gangster. Pesci isn’t either, but you’ve heard it all before, done that sort of stuff, and maybe even been there. In reality, what this Pesci character is saying to anyone within earshot is that he’s not someone you want to fuck around with. He’s playing to see just how far he can push the right buttons to get a response without breaking character. He’s busting balls and instilling fear while being funny. He’s intimidating. Using his alpha dog, macho man, tough-guy style.
You can spot a clown from a mile away. They’re not menacing like Pesci or any wiseguy, for that matter. They’re everywhere. They don’t need garish make-up, fright wigs, giant shoes, or bright polka dot or striped clothing to label themselves. It’s obvious who they are in our uptight, isolated, yet cultured society. Sometimes all it takes is an obscenely long red tie or a crowd of people wearing red baseball caps. It could be a solitary figure at night who stands in the shadows behind a lamppost, appearing sinister.
Most of the time, I feel like a clown. I have those qualities. It’s easy to say that I distinguish myself from other jokers because of my twisted sense of humor, poor judgment, and regrettable taste. I find it funny that most people would recoil in horror, running away and screaming with tears gushing from their terrified eyes. Seeing the new Time cover woman of the year could set someone off and run amok on a rampage. I thought maybe they were a drag queen or the best thing since Wonder bread with mayonnaise. Another cult of celebrity to flush away the fears and doubts of life on the edge of America's dreams?
All those unheard thoughts and unanswered prayers are piling up at the local dump. Right next door to the tiny church where the bully pulpit hides backstage in waiting for the apocalypse or rapture. Whichever arrives first. An insidious-minded nut poisoning the planet with cult-worship nonsense. Scientology and Protestant goofballs, even God-fearing citizens who go bowling on Thursday nights and faithfully attend their Sunday church service while following sporting events and current news.
I can’t tell the difference between a rabid Trumper and a sissy Swifty, but you've got to fit in somewhere. It’s the cults I think about. Even if it’s a cult of one. The damage is done. I was canceled by cancel culture. I dropped out of clown college, and my subscription to the New World Order was never renewed. What’s a neglected, rejected fool without a hill or shoe to stand on to do but grab a gun and go shoot up the joint? The other day, some disgruntled college professor in Vegas shot and killed three faculty members at a college campus because they didn’t hire him for a teaching position. Difficult times demand extreme measures. And some Beltway commuter cars were shot at by a road-rager who was cut off while exiting an off-ramp. This is the knee-jerk reaction of people who have lost their last marble, a dead-end job, and a broken life. That’s the shared dream in every gated, armed community along dead-end streets of secret sorrow. In better neighborhoods with no tomorrow. If you lived here, you’d be home by now. Possibly dead, but safe, sound, and secure in the knowledge that you made a difference.
It sounds too good to be real, but honestly, the truth has always been right here in broad daylight. Powerless in this land of beautiful lies. To beat up and smack down every halfwit. Everybody loves when the circus comes to town, but not everyone loves those people with lots of guns. Driving a tiny car filled with killers that keep coming back to bite your ear off and break their foot off up in your ass. A Terminator who can never be stopped or defeated. A dictator pontificating at a retribution revenge rally filled with carbon copy idiots.