The clown was drunk, surly and horny. Or should I say that he was in dire need of shagging Tinkerbell. Ok, her name wasnâ€™t really Tinkerbell but the performers at a kids birthday party donâ€™t introduce themselves by their real names so youâ€™ll forgive me if I canâ€™t tell you whether she was Karen, Kathy, Tracey, Lacey or Stacey.
All I know is that the clown who smelled like he had taken a bath Â at the local liquor store told me that he wanted to play hide the salami with her. I suppose that between the stench and his words I should have told my sister to fire him immediately but I was too busy laughing at the name I had given him, â€œThe Fairy Fucker.â€
Little sister wouldnâ€™t have been happy about that. She wouldnâ€™t have smiled, chuckled, giggled or guffawed about â€œThe Fairy Fucker.â€ No grin would have been seen on her chin, not even if I tried to tell her that the local Pro-Gay defamation league would be pissed with me for calling him â€œThe Fairy Fucker.â€
She was far too engrossed in being the â€˜hostess with the mostess.â€ It was my niece’s 9th birthday party and the house was filled with ten thousand screaming kids, a very nice assortment of food, Tinkerbell, music and my new friend, â€œThe Fairy Fucker.â€
Just thinking about it makes me giggle and maybe that explains why I didnâ€™t kick his ass out myself. I like being an uncle. No scratch that, I love being an uncle. Maybe it is because I am 240 pounds of five year-old trapped in a manâ€™s body. Ultimately it doesnâ€™t matter, cuz I am really good at it and the kids love me.
So while little sister is flying around the house and yard trying to make sure that everything is just so, I am pulling out every trick in the Uncleâ€™s Handbook. It doesnâ€™t take long for me to be like the Pied Piper of the party. I have most of the ten thousand children kids at the party following me around, imitating everything I say and do.
I know from experience that this is not a good thing. Even though I like playing Peter Pan I know that having the lost boys trailing me is a recipe for disaster. Inside my head I start to hear Robbie the Robot start saying â€œDanger Will Robinson, Danger Will Robinson.â€ But I am in my element and I sort of ignore the robot and the red alert noise that Captain Kirk used to set off on the Enterprise.
Mere moments from now Iâ€™ll find myself face to face with little sister except she is not 12 and screaming at me because I have unplugged the phone and she canâ€™t call our parents to tell them how evil I am.
Nope, she is pushing 40 (a fact that I repeat frequently) and she has slipped out of the â€œhostess with the mostessâ€ mode and into â€œI am going to kick my big brotherâ€™s ass.â€ Well, I donâ€™t know about you but I donâ€™t like having my ass kicked and even though little sister may have a point that pump isnâ€™t going anywhere near my crack.
Angry words are exchanged and weâ€™re transported back to 1982. Just like old times our mother comes over and lays into both of us. Fun time is over and now I am angry. We go back and forth and then the argument is broken up by a scream.
Poor Tinkerbell has discovered that the balloon animal The Fairy Fucker is holding isnâ€™t really a balloon or an animal. Little sister and I exchange a look and a millisecond later I drag the clown out the door and throw him headfirst off of the porch.
I turn and look at little sister and say â€œtoo bad she didnâ€™t teach him to fly.â€ In between giant gales of laughter little sister gives me a big hug and the party resumes.
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