Is the slow, relentless, soul-sucking drain of apathy pulling you down, and then putting its foot in your poop shoot once you're in the prone position?
Are you sick and tired of seeking advice from people who could care less whether or not you live or die?
Feeling the crush of a massive corporatized world while finding yourself in an even bigger rush?
Do you have more issues than Rolling Stone?
When the high price of anti-depressants equals the cost of a second mortgage, you need someone to turn to. And that someone is me, FUgly the KlowN.
NOTE: While I can't answer every damn question (and the only "dumb" question is the one you don't ask) presented to me, the common-sense one-question-per-individual-per-email guideline will help expedite the pathetic process.
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Q: For the record, are you an evil clown?
A: For the broken record, I am not an "evil," "psycho," or "killer"
clown." I am a depressed klown, with a 'K.'
Q: Why don't you wear traditional clown greasepaint or make-up?
A: I'm allergic to make-up and greasepaint, so I wear a mask,
superhero-style, while on-camera, trick-or-treating, even when I "drop the
kids off at the pool."
Q: Do you have kids?
A: No, ya knob. It's a figure of speech. I have a dread fear of
children.
Q: Are you funny?
A: Well, that's subjective, isn't it, brain trust? But let me answer by
stating this: Does a frog have a waterproof ass?
Q: Is it true that you always answer a question with the question, "Does a
frog have a waterproof ass?"
A: False, hot shot. Does the pope sh*t in the woods?
Q: I'm afraid of clowns. Why should I hire you as a "frowning telegram klown"?
A: The feeling's mutual, baby. I hate clowns myself. Hey, hire a traditional happy-ass clown
for all I care. But if you want to get creative and think outside the idiot
box, then hire me. Just know this:
Your spouse, relative, friend, co-worker, therapist, or even mistress will never forget the expeience
of being comedically roasted by me, "The Klown With the Frown." "The Freak Avenger of the Depressed." " The Don Rickles of Clowns." Blah, blah, and lest we forget, blah.
Q: Honestly, were you expelled from Clown College for failing "Balloon
Animals 101"?
A: There wasn't anything "honest" about it. It was a conspiracy born of the
highest levels of government.
Q: Is it true that you cannot pronounce or even type the vowels of so-called
four-letter words?
A: What the uck-fay? What a bunch of it-shay. You try a lifetime of being censored by the f*cking F.u.C.k.C. and see how you turn out, ya knob. Or some such sh*t.
Q: How do you see if you have black X's for eyes? Are you like a zombie or something?
A: I've got eyes in the back of my head. And I may be a zombie, technically, but minus the brains-eating aspect. I'm on a strict Prozac-and-Scotch diet.
Q: What is your life philosophy?
A: Wake up and smell the rubber nose: life is a sick joke and death is the
punch line.
Q: Are you really the "bastard hate child" of Tony Clifton and Gloria
Steinem? What about the Jo Anne Worley connection? And is Don Rickles really your grandfather?
A: Clifton and Steinem are my biological deadbeat daddy and mommy dearest, disrespectively. They conceived my ass while on acid during a late 1960s Hollyw%d hot tub party thrown by "entertainer" John Davidson. Worley was my foster mother for about an hour in the early 70s. Rickles is Tony Clifon's real father. Do the math, genius.
Q: Did Andy Kaufman fake his death?
A: Is that a trick question?
Q: Is it true you snort Prozac?
A: Take a good look at me. Now shut up and pretend I'm funny.
Q: Do you have any advice for those who may feel depressed?
A: What is this, 20 Questions? Yeah. Sure. When life hands you lemons, ask if they have any goddamn
oranges instead. Can I go now?
Q: Why would you want to leave?
A: That's it. Who let this smart ass in here?
Where's my Prozac?
FUGLY FACTOIDS: When he began professionally clowning around circa 1996, FUgly the KlowN's original moniker was Shat-Upon the Anti-Clown. He later reverted to his beautiful birthname. Or some such name.
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*DISCLAIMER AND AGREEMENT AKA THE PROVERBIAL FINE PRINT*
You understand and acknowledge that the "Ask Fug" feature is not a medical
consultation and that no medications will be prescribed. You further
understand and acknowledge that since it is essentially fothermucking
impossible to adequately diagnose and treat medical conditions without a
first-person encounter and hands-on examination by a qualified health
professional, this feature does not offer medical advice or treatment. The
comments provided are simply a depressed klown's opinion and should not be
considered professional medical advice. (Although this is not to say health professionals are not professional clowns.) You should get off
your ass and speak with your own professional physician or therapist about
your issues and concerns. If you are experiencing a true medical emergency,
call 911 immediately. On the other hand, if you are experiencing a regular
everyday panic attack, try placing your head between your freakin' knees. Or whatever
the hell it is that people do. Or snort a line of low-grade Prozac. You
agree that all disinformation provided through the "Ask Fug" feature and
everything included in this pathetic website is not considered a substitute
for your physician/quack or therapist/shrink, and these are only general (and, let's face
it, fairly lousy) guidelines provided for disinformational purposes and/or a
laugh riot. You agree to consult your own stinkin' astronomically-priced
health care provider with any questions concerning your condition. You also
agree not to hold anyone connected with this feature (least of all Fugly the
Klown, damn it) or Or Some Such Productions. responsible for any consequences
arising from answers provided through this polka-dotted website. By
submitting a question or reviewing an answer, you are agreeing to this
Disclaimer and Agreement. Got it, brain trust?
* denotes "profane" vowel as per the F.u.C.k.C.