This is why ML and I have a conversation that goes something like this at least once a week:
Me - I want a glass jar full of broken doll heads for our dining room centerpiece.
ML - There is something seriously wrong with you.
Me - Does that mean we can get one???
ML -I think there are some people in white coats at the door that want to take you somewhere nice and relaxing. In a strait jacket.
What? It's awesome. Hey! Don't run away!!
Of course, all my friends know I'm into creepy things so they'll often send me links to stuff that would make other people question their sanity. Sometimes they will even buy this stuff for me on a whim because they just know I'll get a kick out of it.
And ML quietly adds their name to his ever-growing Hit List.
A couple of weeks ago, ML went out of town to visit a friend in Seattle. While he was out there, I had a few girls over for a bachelorette party, including Snarkier Than You, who, shall we say, knows exactly what kind of weird shit I'm into. She casually mentioned that she saw a painting while digging around in a very creepy basement at an estate sale earlier that day that she thought I would like, so much so that she took a picture of it. She showed me the painting - a very disturbing, serial-killing-looking clown.
It was more frightening than this. And my vagina just shriveled up and died a little.
It was fucking terrifying. I told her I HAD to have it but alas, she didn't pick it up for me (mostly because she refused to willingly take possession of it). I believe what I actually said was, "Oh mah gahd, ML would shit his shorts if I had that painting. I MUST OWN IT."
STY and I have turned antagonizing poor ML into an art form. And DAMN we're good!
Anyway, the painting was quickly forgotten as we wolfed down whore derves and I drank myself into a wine-oblivion.
The next day, around noon, I finally decided I needed to clean up the porch after the previous night's festivities. Still in my pajamas, with bedhead of epic proportions, I opened my front door and... fucking screamed. Loudly.
This is what I saw:
The thing that was so horrifying about this (besides the fact that there was a FUCKING CLOWN PAINTING ON MY PORCH) was the fact that it wasn't THE clown painting STY had shown me on her phone the night before.
Was there some insane clown-painting-collector who had somehow overheard us? DOES HE LIVE IN MY BASEMENT OH MY FUCKING DOG SHITTING FUCK, DOES HE???
I'll admit, it took me a couple of seconds to calm down and not run out of my house because I was totally convinced that some psycho was living in my house and listening, just waiting for me to finally admit I was into upsetting clown decor. He's probably lurking in the basement, sharing the storage closet with Freddy, Jason and Michael Myers, who I swear are always standing right behind me every time I bend over to take clothes out of the dryer.
Finally, I sucked it up and took a tentative step toward the painting. That's when I noticed this:
I shrieked again. My neighbors, who do regular things like drink coffee and read the newspaper on their porch ten feet away and who have probably never stepped outside to find two insane paintings of clowns on their porch but of course were right there when I did, glanced up and looked away quickly. It was almost as awkward as the time the band was practicing a song called "Pussy in the Morning" with the windows wide open while the neighbor's kids were outside playing (hint - the song isn't about felines).
But it was okay, because this was the picture STY had shown me so I was relieved that I didn't have some maniac living in my basement or something. Just a totally fucking insane best friend***. Quickly, I grabbed the paintings and ran inside before my neighbors could realize I was in my pajamas with hangover-hair.
Me in the morning. Not. Fucking. Pretty.
The pictures don't really do these paintings justice. There is something so alarming about the second one - I just can't describe it but I'm positive it's vacant, murderous eyes follow me around and I swear I heard it whispering awful things to me the other day.
But I knew I had to hang it up somewhere. Immediately. It took me about two seconds to figure out the best place for my new home decor. In one wink, the paint-by-numbers Jesus that was hanging in our living room was removed and the Fucking-Scary-Clown painting took its place.
Did I mention that it's directly across from the front door and it's the first thing you see when you walk into our house?
The next morning, I was in the bathroom getting ready to go to work when I heard ML come in from his red-eye flight from Seattle. There was a shuffling of bags, then a huge thump, then a very loud, "HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!" Seconds later he came walking up the stairs.
"What the hell is up with the John Wayne Gacy decor?" he asked.
"I thought it would brighten up the place," I replied.
I got that stare, the one he gives me when I say something he doesn't accept. It's like I just told him I wanted him to stick his penis in my ear. Then he turned around and headed to the bedroom.
"That abomination is coming down when you get home," he told me before I left.
That was two weeks ago. This picture is from today.
*** The funniest part of this whole story is the fact that Snarkier Than You set up the whole shebang (replete with a goddamn balloon) while my neighbors were OUTSIDE. On their porch. A scant ten or so feet away. In broad fucking daylight. I can't decide who has ruined who. [STY's note: I can - you totally did this to me - I was NEVER this shameless. I don't know whether I should thank you or tell you that my parents told me we're not allowed to be friends anymore.]