So I went to Clown Day this weekend.

Apparently, this is National Clown Week, or something like that. And in honor of this momentous occasion, the good folks at Rawhide opened their doors to the public this past Saturday and let everyone come in and openly mix with a bunch of clowns. The best part of the whole thing was-- it was free, and I have a video camera.

I went to Clown Day with Trish and Kane. It was really hot and crowded; as you'd expect, there were a lot of families there with little kids, and not so many 20-somethings with sarcastic attitudes and video cameras. Rawhide is a tourist-y "wild west" town/ restaurant complete with wandering bad-ass "cowboys" who pick fake fights with each other and have shoot outs with one another in the middle of the dirt streets; callin' each other "yeller" and what-not. It's a hoot. I am telling you, it's authentic Arizona stuff. Unless of course, you actually live here.

Anyway, there were clowns. Messes of them. Clowns on stilts, clowns with hola-hoops in their pants to create fake fat waistlines. Clowns with little toy ponies on the end of a wire "leash" who were getting towed through the crowd by their over-excited toy pony. It was extreme hilarity. Here are the best clown moments that happened to us:

1) A clown with very yellow teeth. We saw this old woman dressed in a pink yarn wig and a frilly petticoat dress with polka-dotted Chuck Taylors talking to some kids, and as we looked closer we were horrified to see her teeth were practically falling out her head. Yellowed and coffee-stained, they were glowing like rotten corn niblets against the white (death-pall) greasepaint makeup. It was horrid!

2) The clown with the B. One clown approached us with his hands cupped and said. "I've caught a bee. He's very dangerous. Want to see him?" At this point, we were a little buzzed on the alcoholic beverages we had imbued upon entering Clown Day, so we went along. "Let's see it," I says. The guy brings his hands close to us and opens them to reveal a nasty, evil... red sponge in the shape of the letter B. He got us! I wanted to beat him with a rusty shovel for his cruel prank. Clowns....!

As I was saying, when we entered, we knew it would be more hilarious if we were drinking. Trish and Kane got these gross margaritas in plastic cups at a little stand that was manned by a bartender in a cowboy hat. I ordered a plastic cup full of white zinfindel. Over ice. There could be nothing weirder than walking around in 100+ degree heat, surrounded by parents, children, balloons and fucking clowns while drinking a fine blush wine and progressively getting a silly buzz. Things definitely got funnier after that.

We watched some kids ride the mechanical bull-- good times, that. Especially when the older kids would get on and the bored-looking teenager (he looked sort of like a whinier version of the doofus cowboy-guy in "Footloose") running the ride would speed up the bull so they would go whipping off and onto the padded cushions around the bull. The best was when one younger kid just sort of slid off the bull and dumped his ass down into the cushions like a jerk. Man, wise up, kid! You're supposed to fall off as the bull is moving-- NOT when it has shuddered to a stop. It was good, buzzed times scraming at the kid as he fell. I think we all went "OHHH!" real loud from the sidelines.

And who should be walking the crowd but that pompous bitch-ass Ronald McDonald. I shit you not. That asshole was there too, mingling with the real clowns. That is one creepy mother-effer. He was posing with kids like he was the local hero. I don't remember Ronald going off to war and making the world a safer place for everyone. I don't remember him inventing the vaccine for polio. And I sure don't remember him cheering up anyone ever, really, other than a stray McNugget puppet in those 80's commercials. He's a marketing tool. Scratch that--he's just a tool, period. I think the other clowns were seriously plotting to kick his ass as he made his way back to his Dodge Omni when the night was through. I would, if I was a clown. Retarded red-haired, open-mouthed smiling bastard. (In case you can't tell, I don't like Ronald McDonald. Give me Grimace any day.)

Let's see-- other happenings: We watched a bunch of little kids shaking their pre-school moneymakers to a cowboy cover-band's version of the Monkee's "I'm a Believer." I had a laughing fit when I realized it was hard to tell what gender the clowns were as they shuffled past in their honking shoes. Kane had his fortune read (very inaccurately) by the "gypsy" Blanca. We stood on the line for her little covered-wagon of lies for almost an hour, taunted by small children who jumped around and told us how they would spend a "billion-billion dollars" and repeatedly asked Kane is he was Chinese. The little blonde girl who talked to us the most on-camera expressed her concern about Kane: "I hope he's one of those fighting Chinese."

Overall, the night was a success. We didn't have to kill any clowns. That's always a sign of a good night--regardless of it being Clown Day or not.

Next year I invite all you blog-readers to pay your clown respects at Clown Day. They do it every year. And I urge you all to drink. Heavily.