So, I had my son for the weekend, which of course means that I just didn’t forget him somewhere on Friday night – it’s not like he has a father to spend time with. And I’m not saying that in the sense that his father isn’t around – I mean he literally doesn’t have a father. He was conceived and birthed as a result of a Ketamine vision I had where Satan was fucking me with a crucifix. Weird shit happens when you’re in a K-hole, but I never thought anything you hallucinated could have any sort of lasting effect, let alone a hysterical pregnancy that resulted in the birth of a disabled child. But, here we are. I’m a mom, and I have a son whose helmet stops fitting if I forget to file down his horns every other week.
Anyhow, I’m a good mom in the food-on-the-table department, but I’m a bad mom in the son-at-the-table department. It’s easy to take care of a child when you think of them as an extension of yourself. You just make them dinner when you make yourself dinner. But I think of a lot of things like an extension of myself. Like my iPhone for example, which I also often forget at the bar. I’ve got a big problem when it comes to neglect, and I’m aware of it, and I’m working on it.
One of the things I’m trying to do to improve, is I put myself (and Mason) in situations where if I forget him, he’ll at least be somewhere that’s fun for him. Instead of leaving him at Johnathan’s Bar & Grill on karaoke night or in the parking lot of the CarMax when I went home with that salesman, I try to do my serious drinking at places like Chuck E. Cheese and the movie theater. I try to black out in places where Mason will feel safe and comfortable if I don’t come back for two or three days.
Well, I found out this week that the circus was in town.
“Great!” I thought to myself. “I hope they serve beer.”
I immediately went online to buy tickets and I emptied out my big vodka smuggling purse. I packed up Mason and some four Lokos and set out for what I thought would be a pleasant day. I couldn’t be more wrong. The circus was racist, sexist, ableist, and every other type of ist I can think of.
Let’s start off with the obvious: Ever notice how the tent looks exactly like a Klan hood? That’s what I kept thinking to myself the entire time. “Mason,” I said to my son, “look at the tent, it’s like they’re forcing us all to wear a Klan outfit.”
Then the lion tamers rolled in. Hmm, let’s think about that for a second. It’s a white man with a whip, and guess where lions come from? That’s right: Africa. We’re basically watching a plantation reenactment. The whole idea of a “master of beasts” is just a nod towards slavery. They make the lions jump through a ring of fire because they know the lions lack of opposable thumbs make it impossible for them to learn how to pick cotton.
Once the lions were done being exploited, they bring out elephants and fat shame them by making them march around in circles and imitate obese women in a step class. I was completely appalled.
But let’s get to the real meat and potatoes here. The one thing that really makes the circus a problematic and deplorable spectacle. I’m talking about clowns.
Yup, clowns. They’re basically blackface. I know, I know, the paint is white, but it’s super white. It’s almost so white that they’re hinting that it should be black. If it were orange or red or any other color, it might make sense, but they chose white paint because it’s so far removed from black that you can’t help but think of black when you see it. It’s like they trick you into being racist.
So these fucking clowns come out in this tiny ass car, mocking people who drive hybrids and dare to care about the environment. Then they all come out – too many of them even, again, to mock those of us that give a shit about our carbon footprints. They even wear giant shoes just to drive the point home. We get it, you have a giant carbon footprint. You don’t care about the environment, clowns. Very funny. Not.
Now, it would be fine if these were just regular clowns. They weren’t. For some reason, these were firemen clowns, and they spent the next twenty minutes making a mockery of literally the bravest people in the world right after transgenders. Doesn’t it bother anyone else that we let these jokers just bust on the fire department? Why are the clowns so bad at fighting the fires? Is that supposed to be a mockery of 9/11?
One of them even had a flower on his head. Naturally I assumed that meant he was gay. It’s also an allusion to the expression “pushing daisies.” With one symbol, they’re able to convey the message that all gay people should be killed.
The dead gay clown then starts going around throwing pies in people’s faces, further fat shaming them, until one of them sprays him in the face with a seltzer bottle. Seltzer – one of the key ingredients in vodka sodas – a drink women order at bars. Is that roofie seltzer? I bet it is. I bet they’re making a big joke out of the idea of date raping a dead gay clown.
Well, I walked out, and I would have demanded a refund, but I didn’t think about it until I had already left without my son. I have to say I was entirely and utterly offended, and I will never return to the circus again.
Except on Monday, to pick up Mason from the security office. Today I’m having some me time.