Who's the Class Clown?

I'm glad Mr. Hambre has elected to take time out of his busy schedule to address this issue. As we all know, exposing yourself to pedestrians for quarters is a demanding, thankless job, but somebody's got to do it.First, a word about myself. As previously stated, I live in Chicago with my cat and my girlfriend. (My girlfriend is indeed real, or I wouldn't need quite so many puncture repair kits.) While I don't have quite the impressive list of "credentials" and "qualifications" that dot your impeccable resume, I was out fighting in the trenches of clownery, while you were sitting safe and secure in the classroom. I watched my buddies wallow face-down in the muck of obligations like "rent" and "food", dropping out of the clowning world altogether, while you pondered the significance of ancient philosophers like Aristophanes. You can talk all you want about poop jokes, but until you're staring down the muzzle of a screeching monkey as he hurls his feces straight at your head, it's nothing but mental masturbation.And I for one have had it up to here with you ivory tower comedians, glancing down your nose at the hardclowning people who made it happen. Your fancy mail-order PhD isn't worth shit against a good old-fashioned midget-tossing, with decent God-fearing people. But you wouldn't know anything about the giddy rush of a three-foot tall man held proudly over your head, as you prepare to lob him with all your might to defeat your worthy adveraries.You call yourself a clown? A rainbow wig can't be worn alongside your frilly ascots, Lord Fauntleroy.

That's right, I've downed my share of Old Style in my time. True comedy is a merciless bitch goddess, and a goddess demands sacrifice. (Not that your poncey academic friends would know about pleasin' the ladies. How does the headmaster's cane feel across your backside, by the way?)I wake up in a pool of my own urine no less than three times a day, all for the sake of Lady Laughter. And Division street is just the start... I down myself into a vomit-covered stupor everywhere from Skokie to South Side so everyone can have a taste. You say filthy vagrant? I say keepin' it real.Hambre here wants us all to think that a rousing chorus of Noel Coward songs qualifies as an explosion, or that some rather mischievous readings from Salome amount to danger. His perfumed, powdered world has no place for the hard men of the comics world, with nothing but a ball point and a few torn, soiled pages from Scott McCloud to keep you safe.A man who turns his back on the midgets and the monkeys can't be called a man at all.I spent my days adhering to the three principles of comedy... true comedy, in the language of the streets.1) Cats, dead or dying.
2) Robots, the bigger and clumsier the better.
3) Old people, specifically the cast of TV's Golden Girls.Drink it up deep, 'cuz that's the taste of funny.[This message has been edited by Dan Carroll, 09-25-2003]

(On a serious note, Rei, if you're up for it, I'd love to write you a comic script so you can photoshop the art.)

Hambre, this has gotten so easy, I'm going to give you a handicap. Rather than argue your post as legendary funnyman Dan Carroll, I will argue it as reasonably entertaining funnyman Dennis Miller. It should even the odds a bit.If anyone finds themselves unconsciously reaching for the remote to see what else is on, don't worry. This is Dennis Miller speaking, and it's only natural.

quote:

---

Oh, please, Dan. You can hardly wear the rebel hat if your view of comedy concerns Adam Sandler and frat-boy hijinx. I know you'd love to think I'm a harmless prep school wag who thinks that craven asshole Tom Lehrer is a hoot. However, I assure you I bear a closer resemblance to a Travis Bickle of comedy, a lava-surfing cut-and-slash satirist, a garish John Wayne Gacy clown come to life. When the men in blue finally gun me down in seedy Central Square, they'll find grenades beneath my moldy cassock and several ten-penny nails driven into my testicles. That's not sick, Dan, that's funny.

---

Ho, Adam Sandler. Whippin' out the big guns. Now I don't wanna go off on a rant here, but this Hambre guy's brainpan couldn't fry a two-egg omelette. Ha HA! He's worked this prep school thing over like Clarence Thomas gettin' out on the street to shake some hands and slap some asses. *wags head*

quote:

---

It's one thing to point out my lack of success with women (and it wasn't my history of molestation that left me unable to get off on the same planet as any female, it's my dedication to keeping my bodily fluids at the disposal of my Art), but your comments concerning my mother in the "Lineage of Jesus" thread were totally unwarranted. You think she's the only person on the east coast who has a thing for liquid demerol? And how many times do I have to tell you she only lived with Brad McFall for two months? Leave her alone, for crying out loud, she's suffered enough.

---

Trying to figure out the jokes in this guy's posts is like trying to track down a Kennedy at a brothel. *wags head again* There he is whippin' out the old Brad McFall card, like he's tossing a piece of chewing gum to Bob Dole and watching him catch his dentures on his lip. It's too easy to be funny, and the only thing we'll be left with is being even less able to understand what the Hell the guy's saying!Of course that's just my opinion. I could be wrong.

quote:

---

Cats? Robots? Old people? You're an amateur, Dan. I didn't waste that stint in the Marines over in Kosovo, pal. I've laughed amid mass graves, Comic Book Boy, even if I was in Supply and never really saw anything graphic. Our world is a sick, amoral sewer, and it's goddamn great comedy. Did you have your eyes closed during the twentieth century, Dan, or did you just miss all the good stuff? I was there, Dan, well I read about it anyway.

---

What an intergalactic fucking freakshow this has turned out to be, huh? I don't wanna go off on a rant here, but responding to this mass grave business is like trying to tape Strom Thurmond's jaw back into place after it crumbles into dust. Ha HA! Strom Thurmond... geez, why the Hell don't we put that guy on the Supreme Court, huh? Who better to work out constitutional intent that ONE OF THE ORIGINAL AUTHORS? *wags head yet again*Anyway, that's my post, and I... am... outta here!

Hambre, tossing your mom a fiver and a pack of smokes before wiping on a towel isn't a relationship, even if it does go on for months.Man, I try to level the playing field out a bit, and this is the thanks I get? You pour your blood and sweat and bile into something, and all you get in return is "this doesn't taste like fudge ripple ice cream, what the Hell is this?"You question my devotion to comedy? You're talking to a man who breaks into his own house, wipes his own ass with his own toothbrush, and leaves pictures for himself to find! Why? Because a toothbrush in the ass is funny, Hambre. And deep down, somewhere in that twisted soul of yours, I think you know that.Are you willing to do the same? Would you get drunk by yourself in Tijuana, pass out, and steal your own kidney? Would you dress like a baby, stick yourself in the microwave and hit the on button? Somehow I don't think so. The funny things in life leave a man like you weak in the knees, hiding behind mummy's skirts and hoping "uncle" Brad will come by for another visit soon.When you pull together the nuts to light your first hobo on fire, come talk to me. Until then, you're not a man... just a little boy dressing up in uncle Brad's pants.

We've all learned a valuable lesson here today... you get on Hambre's mom, and he gets all pissy. I don't know why... so many people get on Hambre's mom you'd think he's be used to it by now.It's okay, little Hambre. Shhhh. Uncle Brad will be back soon.Unfortunately though, the subtleties of comedy are lost on you. Any idiot can kill a hobo. You just grab yourself a hammer, find one drunk enough not to yell, and go to work. It takes artistry to light a man on fire, while keeping the flame under enough control so that his wild gesticulations, facial contortions, and screams of pain can still be readily enjoyed by all.Poop, pain, monkeys, and midgets, Hambre. These are the four basics you will need to learn. Then we can move you on to hobo-lighting.

quote:

---

Any chance you guys could put this stuff in verse? Then we could have kind-of a rap battle thing going!

---

I like you, John. Honest. That's why I don't want to have to harm you.Let's put this unpleasantness behind us.

You've completely deflated us, messanjaH. We now see how unfunny we truly are.Your work here is done, and you can go now.Go on. Scoot.

quote:

---

Don't get me wrong, I'm not going all PC/Rrhain on your admittedly sorry ass, but hobos just don't pose the threat to me that they seem to represent to you.

---

If you'd heard the hobos' plans, you'd be afraid too.You haven't seen the blueprints, Hambre. You don't know about the endless flesh-pits, or the many-angled death factories, shining tall and proud under a mewling, squirming, black beating heart where the sun used to be.Fuckin' hobos. Buncha assholes.

quote:

---

I can't be held responsible for anything the Pride of Ithaca himself may say in retaliation for your crass behavior concerning my mother. I can't say I'll make head or tail out of it if he does either. But you've been warned.

---

I'm tempted to go forward with it. I've heard you college boys get into some hilarious sissy-boy slap fights when somebody insults your dear sweet mothers.But in all seriousness, I have nothing but respect for your mother. Anyone who can pull off a DVDA on her son's bed without waking him up gets the thumbs up from me.

quote:

---

You couldn't tell real comedy from monkey shit

---

It would be like telling fruits from oranges, Hambre. Fruits from oranges.

The hobo's greatest power is to convince the world he poses no threat.I don't think you're in on the conspiracy, Mr. Hambre. It would be like suggesting that the cow conspires with the man who eats the steak.Fred Williams did indeed introduce me to the concept of the hobo master plan, but even he didn't know the full scope of the Hobo World-That-Is-To-Come. His limited vision allowed only for reflection, and what he saw was just his own mad paranoia, finally turned back upon its master.When I finally found him again, he was in an alleyway, with his spine broken and twisted into spirals. He had been... tangled through a garbage can, with a mouth full of pickle brine, and a note pinned to his forehead, written on violet paper with soiled lipstick. It read "The mouth ain't s'posed to scream like that. There are no masks on anymore, and may God have mercy on us all."Off to the side, three hobos shifted nervously and looked away.There is a war coming, Mr. Hambre. And if you can't fight it, be glad there are brave soldier who are willing.

quote:

---

According to FOX News

---

Well, that should be your first tip-off right there. Rupert Murdoch? Total hobo.I know, I know, you'll ask me what I'm basing that on. But all I can say is that I can tell if a guy is a hobo or not just by looking. It's like a radar or something.

quote:

---

In Chicago, a man in a soiled clown suit was treated for burns after attacking and setting fire to himself in a South Side alleyway. He showed all indications of being inebriated and only able to remember one joke. Doctors described the victim as a hopeless nutjob. When pressed for a second opinion, they said he smelled. He was released into the care of his imaginary girlfriend.

---

What can I say? Like anyone who wants to give something back to the community, I've taken on students. Damn amateurs, gumming up the works.But they're eager to learn, and... well, Hell... you try looking into those happy, toothless smiles and telling them to go get real jobs and families.If it wasn't for me, these guys would probably be still living with their moms, practicing fake news reports in front of the mirror, while fondly reminiscing about the headmaster's cane. And such a living Hell I wouldn't wish on anyone.

quote:

---

The scourge of pan-hoboism is threatening to cheapen this debate

---

What's wrong, Hambre? Gettin' nervous? Feeling the sweat drip down the back of your neck? Muscles starting to clench?It's probably just a class reunion. Lie back and think of England, you should be fine.As for the hobos, however, I will happily settle the matter once and for all with indisputable PROOF. NOW do you see how groundless your assertions are? Will the anti-hoboists finally acknowledge the PROOF of Hobonic intervention?

quote:

---

I can’t help but blame Crashfrog and holmes for encouraging him, spending too much time pointing out patiently the holes in his inane assertions that hobos 1) control the scientific establishment, 2) direct funding away from programs that might shed light on the hoboist conspiracy, and 3) support a vast media cover-up to portray hobos as pathetic, harmless losers with substance abuse issues.

---

This only illustrates the clear anti-hoboist bias on this forum. If I had known this was a place where people would "question my views," and "respond to what I say," I would stuck to Terry's talkorigins community, where the moderators maintain basic levels of civility by accepting Hoboist Theories, and deleting opposing viewpoints.With the exception of my following year's worth of posts, I'm done here.

quote:

---

Dan Carroll has taken responsibility for this totally groundless paranoia. I think he owes us an explanation, delivered by alleged comedian Adam Sandler. How ‘bout it, Dan?

---

I thought we were moving away from screaming and throwing feces.

Non-Sequiter Theatre presents...The Ex-Girlfriend
Starring Mr. Hambre

quote:

---

Id hate to see you upset ever again like that time I mentioned condoms when you took your pants off in the cab.

---

Man, Hambre. What is it with you and talking about taking off and soiling my clothes? I was willing to dismiss it as good-natured ribbing at first, but it's getting a little creepy.The phone calls aren't helping matters, either. For the last time, I am not interested in hearing about what you're wearing, no matter how sheer it is.

quote:

---

And I dont think those other girlfriends would of let you do the stuff you did to me, you know what I mean. You think just because your not big it doesnt hurt the other way, but thats all youll ever do. Why cant you ever do it normal, without hockey masks and pictures of amputees and Pee Wee’s Playhouse playing all the time?

---

I thought you were the one who wanted to leave your Mom out of this. Make up your mind, guy!Now on a serious note... I understand the need for roleplaying, Hambre. Sometimes, when we want something badly enough, we make up identities like "Sarah" to cope with our feelings. But for the last time, I don't care if you're willing to wear a wig and a dress. I don't care how much more practice you've had than the other girls. And it makes no difference to me whatsoever how far through the hose you can get the golf ball.It is not. going. to happen.The phone calls have to stop. The letters have to stop. And you have to stop showing up under my window, playing Peter Gabriel on your boom box.Now let's put this ugliness behind us, and return to the important subject of hobos. (Which I notice you abandoned the second your anti-hoboist LIES were exposed.)[This message has been edited by Dan Carroll, 09-29-2003]

Hambre... gay jokes are a privelidge. Not a right.Go back. Think your post over carefully, and then accuse me of man-love desires.I'll wait.No, seriously, I'll sit here and read the newspaper. *flips pages, mutters* Damn, I wish Nomar'd get his act together. The Red Sox can do better than this...

Mm... Better, but still not quite there. I mean... the prostheses was a step in the right direction, but the Cusak thing is still a reach. Repeating jokes beneath us both.It's possible that gay jokes just aren't your forte, Hambre. *flip* Tsk... looks like Bush is at it again...