HowTo:Clown Stalk
Life. One minute you're in a healthy, committed relationship with the woman you love[1]. The next, she tears out your heart, shreds it into confetti-sized strips and uses your tattered, confetti heart to merrily celebrate walking away from you. We've all been there. Maybe it really irked her when you named your balls Larry and Curly and told her she should Moe her bush. Perhaps she wasn't as thrilled as you were with your ability to scream in your sleep. Maybe you should have been more careful unpacking your adjectives when she asked your opinion of her new jeans. She knows what corpulent means, you ass. Porcine was clearly the better option.
Whatever the case may be, here you are. Alone. Again... NO! Not this time. You will win her back. With laughter. And persistence. And eleven like-minded individuals.
It's time to Clown Stalk. What, you're not familiar? Here, smell my boutonniere...
Sorry About That Boutonniere Thing
Aww, I didn't mean to get your face so wet. But that was abject lesson #1: Don't go the normal, stalkery route and stand outside her apartment in the rain making sad faces. Who are you, John Cusack? No my friend, you have found something special — a woman who you know will sleep with you and doesn't get offended, or ask too many questions, when you cry afterward. A woman who allows you to watch from the closet as she talks to her girlfriends on the phone. A woman who doesn't even mind that you stretch out her negligees with your impromptu fashion shows while she is at work.
Okay, she didn't know about those last two, but it's not like she ever specifically said not to do them, right? She's a keeper, so latch on like the lunatic you are and refuse to let her go. This could get creepy.
That's where the clown costume comes in.
Here, Wear My Clown Hat
What's the matter? That's some intense head scratching, my friend. Are you confused, or is it dandruff? I know — a bad case of the head scabbies. No wonder she left you. You're infested! Hahaha hee hee HAAAAA! Huh haw! Hee? Ha. No? Well, I gotcha again, anyway. The itching powder I put in my hat brim before I handed it over is a part of abject lesson #2: Don't touch my fucking hat.
Moving on, it's time to assemble your costume. You'll need:
A Wig
A clown wig is cheap. A can of spray paint is cheaper. You aren't signing on with The Ringling Brothers, here. Pick your color and spray away. Just make sure to wait three to six hours for the paint to dry before you commence stalking. Nobody likes a sloppy clown stalker.
Makeup
Lucky for you, all the makeup you could ever need can be found right in your bathroom. Your special lady couldn't possibly have carried all of her belongings with her when she walked out the door that night. Remember? She was in quite a rush to leave when you told her that you had formed a collection of all her nail clippings from the past nine months. You even showed her the frilly scrapbook you house them in. The photograph on the cover was of her. On the toilet. She may not have seen that for the delicate beacon of your devotion that it was, but even this was for the best. Because who's got all the makeup and toenail clippings?
A Hideously-Colored Outfit
Unless you are willing to throw down top dollar at a high-end shop, like Pips & Doonglefluff's Polka-Dotted Pants Emporium, your outfit could be the biggest hurdle to overcome. Ever tried jumping hurdles in clown shoes? No, you best just borrow one of your mother's pantsuits and your father's neckties. Boom! Clown outfit![2]
A Funny Clown Hat
Now all you need is... do not try to touch my hat! Go rob a hobo or something.
Assemble a Band of Merry Stalkers
With your outfit out of the way, its time to gather your outfit.[3][4] While solitary stalking may be acceptable for those casual weekend creepers, clown stalking is performed in packs, or Lookie-Loo troupes, as they are known amongst the initiated. Lookie-Loo troupes typically consist of twelve clowns total:
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The Ringleader — Responsible for the detailed planning and execution of every aspect in this intricate operation, you will be pushed to the brink of your mental faculties. Guiding your group, you must be like the twelve-titted whore of Babylon, lactating in many directions at once. There, that's a metaphor your mind can understand. The Driver — Second only to the Ringleader, the driver is indispensable. Let's face it, the Department of Transportation isn't going to lift those restrictions on you operating a motor vehicle, so hopefully you've made one or two friends who are allowed behind the wheel. Remember that a license is always optional, as long as the driver has a compact car with plenty of seating. And a horn that plays Send In the Clowns. The Bagman — Need a pie? The bagman's job is to ask, "Lemon meringue or turkey pot?" Whether you need a can of fake nuts or some silly string, he holds it all within his giant sack. The Distraction — If your special lady marks you or a crowd gathers expecting something funny to happen, the Distraction, well, distracts. Sometimes acting as your double, mimicking your every move, other times dousing a parking lot with gasoline and setting it ablaze, the Distraction's job never calls for subtlety. That's what the mime is for. The Mime — Every group needs a ninja. Quiet, stealthy and fully capable in tight, translucent boxes or moments of extreme windstorm activity, the Mime is your man if you need hoisting up to high ledges. Always check the rope thoroughly beforehand - there is no sense being hoisted halfway up, only to discover that the rope was an invisible fake all along. Two Balloonists — Fast hand expertise and a bounty of skinny balloons are all these two need to fashion anything your group may need on the fly. Blue giraffe? Check. Escape ladder? You bet. A giant phallic hat to bequeath to your love when you finally find her? Sure thing. Five Midgets — First off, they are little people. How neat is that? All special and tiny. Just little miniature people. Toss one through a window to unlock a door. Watch them stack up and reach a previously inaccessible area. And with car seating at a premium, keep 'em in the trunk until needed. Then unleash the awesome power of clown midgets. Don't ever get just one; always buy the five-pack. John Wayne Gacy — Gacy was a guy who enjoyed lots of things, including clowning at children's parties and serial murd....ok, this was a really bad example. Forget this one. Forget you ever heard about forgetting this one. Avoid getting serial killers as members of your Merry Band. They may wind up eating all of you. Or worse.[5] |
Okay, let's face the facts. You don't even know eleven other people. Time to go it alone. Story of your life, my friend. Story of your life.
Blending In With Your Environment
Clown stalkers are unable to access the usual hiding places that a normal, run-of-the-mill stalker uses. Bushes and trees, staples of the stalker community, are right out, you brightly-colored buffoon. Are you trying to get caught? No? Then start getting creative. Invade her neighbor's children's birthday parties. Start up your own circus and pitch your big top right on her front yard. Anytime a parade passes her house, twirl that invisible baton with one hand and watch her through the crowd with a novelty periscope in the other.
In the event that you are unable to find any parades, circuses or children's birthday parties, go for Plan B: Hide in the bushes outside of her workplace.
"Oh my God, I've been caught!"
Of course you got caught. You were dressed as a maniacal, paint-stained clown. Alone. Hiding in the bushes. Outside of the police department, where your special lady works as a 9-11 dispatcher.
That's abject lesson #3: I told you not to touch my fucking hat.
See Also
Footnotes
- ↑ to have sex on.
- ↑ Yes, we are implying that your parents dress like silly idiots.
- ↑ See, that's a military term for your unit, so it still works.
- ↑ Also, the footnotes say that your unit still works. That's good news, huh?
- ↑ They executed Gacy a while back, but you never know for sure. Just to be safe, avoid anyone named John. Or Wayne. Or Gacy. Or anyone whose house smells like dead people.
