On a gloomy Fourth of July, I’m doing what I usually do, lying in bed watching porn and obsessively switching channels.
Stop! Stop right there.
I navigate back to the image that peaked my interest.
There! Right there.
A familiar image. It’s my good good friend Bozo. You know the clown? Dead at 83. I hadn’t spoken to Bozo in a while but the last conversation seemed to be on an upbeat note.
Recovering from an addiction is a nasty thing and one should support friends with nasty addictions. Bozo was a little blue and not because he had used too much blue grease paint but because of his forced retirement from show business.
The call of applause and the adoration of millions of children is an evil vice. He never recovered. Sadly his last days were spent in the isolation of center ring on the sun porch of the Chicago Sunnyvale Celebrity Clown Community Retirement Center.
I’ll miss you Bozo.
Now where did I put that frame. Gotta get you into a frame and on the wall. The wall of autographed dead celebrity framed photos that grows ever more cramped by the day.
A shrine really.