Gassy Clown Car

I am easily amused when I get up at 2 am for my paper route.  Sometimes a random thought will pop into my head and stay there.

Lately, it has been gassy clowns.  Picture this for a moment.  A tiny car (like a Honda Fit or my old ’88 LeMans) is driving across a bridge.  Then PFFFT!  An explosion of brightly-colored fabric erupts from the vehicle.  Oversized shoes are flying.  The sound of rubber noses being pinched is like a flock of honking geese.  Greasepaint is peeling.  Squirting flowers are wilting.  Traffic grinds to a halt as the bridge is now overrun with clowns.  Then, slowly, one little clown sheepishly emerges from the abandoned vehicle with a look on his face that says, “Who, me?”