Bongo, The Probably Depressed Time Travelling

One night, about 3 years ago, in a rum driven lonely Saturday night, I created art, or a series of juvenile jokes fueled by a poor Back-To-The-Future reference and a rodeo clown. Enjoy Hopefully

Bongo, The Probably Depressed Time Traveling Clown

Part Uno

By

Brett Merritt

The world is saturated with unbecoming and degrading professions. Fast Food, Garbage men, Collection Agents, Tech Support, etc…Generally, the entertainment field is what is often sot after as being the desired means of a career, and is the opposition to what is classified as unbecoming, or at least, is often the case, unless you are a Clown. 

One of these said be Clowns is Bongo. Bongo hates being a clown. As it was his family trade and expectation, Bongo went to clown school straight out of high school, and roughly 4 weeks later, we have Bongo the certified entertainer clown. Bongo has been doing this “profession” for roughly 20 years now, making him middle aged and poor. We can venture to say Bongo is in the pits of sadness, for his tiny one room apartment, overlooking a lovely dumpsite, is littered in beer cans and shame. It’s hard to say for sure though, being that it’s hard to afford insurance on a clown’s wage, Bongo was never able to be clinically diagnosed for depression, but considering his TV only picks up the one channel, The Lifetime Channel, one can only assume. 

Bongo starts this Friday like any other day. He rolls out of bed, still in full clown attire, white face, awkwardly drawn sad face red paint scheme around the mouth, overly huge overalls, bucket hat, and the always endearing squeaky red nose still on from the previous gig he did the previous day.  Now, when I say roll out of bed, I mean that quite literally. In Star Foxstyle fashion, Bongo, “Barrel Rolls” directly on the floor and is met with a pool of beer cans, one of which is standing straight up and felt awfully comfortable with holding its ground as Bongo’s crotch decided to plummet on it.  Bongo spouted a few profanities in response, which I assume would be wildly amusing for an outside prospect, but I digress. This would be the bad omen and forerunner for Bongo’s Friday.

This particular Friday Bongo was set to be the entertainer for some rich schmucks kid’s birthday. So, Bongo sluggishly strode over to gather his clown gags, which seemed to take a long time, but only felt that way due to his struggle with his normal morning hangover. He loaded in his clown purse all the classics, a giant spray bottle, a bag of balloons, flower that doubles as a squirt gun, and (his not so classic) pack of cigarettes.  Bag all loaded up, Bongo clumsily found himself staring at his sad five o’clock shadowed reflection in his mirror hanging above his sink. The reflection staring back caused Bongo to shed a tear, as he soaked up the image of his horrendously tattered self. His mirror portrait tried to cheer Bongo up by saying, “That’ll do pig, that’ll do,” but as loveable as quoting Babe to himself was, he still was undeniably aware of the fact that he was a middle aged clown. But the show must go on, so Bongo loaded up into his beaten down Volkswagen Beatle and set off to make a paycheck for the day.

Over the phone, as per-quo of setting up his engagement with his customers, this particular individual made a point in expressing his wealth to Bongo, causing Bongo to quickly take the engagement, in hopes of acquiring some sizeable tips. He was not let down when he showed up to this birthday gig, he pulled his tattered heap of a ride in front of a castle. I mean, this was a legit castle, moat, drawbridge and all.  He got out of his car and was greeted by the father of the kid’s birthday party. Bongo was impressed with the presence of the suit wearing man. He was quickly let down by the clients’ stature when he greeted him. “Finally, you decided to show up, a*****e.” Bongo was then stricken with the realization he was quite a bit late. “Sorry, my oversized plastic watch doesn’t actually work, it’s more of a gim…” Bongo was cut off, “Whatever queer, my kid and his t**d sized friends are in the back yard go make balloon dicks for them or whatever it is you do.” He then hopped in his golden golf cart and drove off leaving Bongo to stand there in his shame. Bongo had a job to do though, so he brushed off the verbal dump that his rich client just dropped on him and continued on to the backyard of the castle.

As expected, there was an extravagant birthday party going on behind the castle. The backyard was beautifully composed with inflatable play equipment, over-the-top golden fountains, fire wielding tiki dancers, and tons of other clowns performing to what seemed like hundreds of children scattered about. Bongo took in a deep breath, and started unloading his purse of gags, in during which a young boy wearing a sash that was embroider in gold saying, “Birthday boy” confronted him. “Hey Kid!” exclaimed Bongo, “Make me a balloon boat!” retorted the boy in excitement. Bongo acknowledged the overly excited birthday boy by pulling out his balloons and inflating them. “Oh! Oh! Oh! I want a pirate ship” excitedly yelled the boy, “And it’s my birthday so it better be awesome!” Bongo responded by doing the only balloon boat he knew how to make by tying three balloons together, and placing a fourth one in the middle, being a make-shift sail. Bongo put on his best fake smile and handed his creation to the kid, “Happy Birthday!”…. The kid’s excitement and joy quickly evaporated as he quickly went into Hulk mode, as if little Bruce Banner’s tires were just slashed…”What The Hell Is This!!” violently screamed the kid, “I asked for a pirate ship, not this girly little rowboat, does it look like I’m wearing a tampon you faggy rainbow of a man?” Bongo was shocked; firstly, because this kid couldn’t have been more than seven years old and already had knowledge of tampons, that befuddled him. Bongo hadn’t acquired that knowledge of lady functions till deep unto his teenage years. Secondly, he was taken aback by the harsh boorishness of the child. “Come on, kid! It’s the best boat I can do.” “SILENCE!! SERVANTS!!” The kid snapped in the air and two suit wearing secret agent looking men quickly attained Bongo. “Woah! What’s going on here kid!” The angry looking kid shouted, “DAD COME HERE QUICK!!”..And surely here came the smug suit-wearing father in his golden golf cart. “What’s up son?” “This Clown sucks, I want him executed” The dad’s eye’s lit up. “Absolutely son.” The dad then sprinted into his garage. Clearly, being a prickasausrus was a daily highlight for this man.

“EXECUTED!!, Come on kid the boat isn’t that bad.” Pleaded Bongo. “Shut up! A*s-hat” yelled the kid. Then flying out of the garage came an old school, 1980’s DeLorean. The dad rolled down his windows, “This is the actual car from Back to the future biyatch!” said the dad as he extended his middle finger out the window. This was by no means any normal middle finger; it was probably the most intense and F-U demanding middle finger ever demonstrated. The intensity made Bongo both weep and die a little on the inside, the middle finger and the fact he was inevitably going to get ran over by Marty McFly, caused some tears to fall.

Just then the dad whipped around in his DeLorean, he had to be cruising toward Bongo at at least 88 MPH. The servants then, in pure Snoop Dog fashion, dropped Bongo to the ground like he was hot. Bongo panicked as he tried to hop to his huge clown feet but it was to no luck. The car did it’s best Princess Di impersonation and crashed into Bongo, launching him into the air and causing him to drop into the castle’s moat. As Bongo looked up at the water from underneath the surface he noticed the water starting to morph and change colors. Bongo then pulled a Terry Shivo and went brain dead.

Seemingly hours had passed by when Bongo started to come out his V8 like condition, and when he came too he noticed something rather peculiar.  Bongo was no longer floating in the Sir D****e-A-Lot’s castle’s moat, but was floating in some seemingly abandoned pond out in the middle of some field. What in the world had happened to Bongo?

 

To Be Continued....

Author's Note

Feel Free to insult. I wrote this while well in to tipsy levels, but I thought it was silly and fun and posted it. I wrote it like 3 years ago.