THE TWILIGHT BOZO

Among the many weightless, and purposeless conversations that I've been a part of, and that indeed most people have probably encountered themselves at some point, is the question of clowns: "friend or foe?"
I think the question has been simplified to much though. "Do you think clowns are scary or not?" That is to broad a question, and for me to say that I am always frightened of clowns is too blanket a statement for me to make. Do I think they are funny? No, but I will say that I once did enjoy them. Few thoughts pleased me more as a child than the thought of watching other kids on the Bozo show throw a little ball into little cups in an attempt to win some little prize. The big top amused me. All those clowns in the little car was brilliant childhood care-free entertainment. Of course now it's annoying, but scary is more about context I think.
If something or someone is very much in it's own element, It's hard for it to be disturbing. I think either fright or humor is born of things being out of place. A stripper at a kids birthday party: funny. An old man's voice coming out of a little girls mouth: scary. Brooke Shields on Broadway in "Chicago":both. The point is it's going to take more than the natural attributes of a clown to scare me.
So what is out of place or out of a clown's element? The clown figurines with the five o' clock shadow creep me out a little, but then again all clown figurines are a little creepy because clowns should be in motion and exagerated motion at that. So being in a frozen state is already a little out of character as it is. One could argue that anywhere out of the circus is out of place, but you could find a clown on the street on his way to entertain children or the like. After some thought on the subject I have decided that the most definitive frightening place to come accross a clown is without doubt the forest.
There should never for any reason be a forest clown. If you see a clown in the forest you are probably going to die a particularly heinous death. Imagine camping and seeing that white face and red whispy hair and little patch-work-hat half covered by an oak. It's incorrect, it's out of place, and it's decidedly horrifying. I've gone so far as to name this hypathetical forest clown: Oopsie. That's right, Oopsie the Clown. Not only is it his name but it's his catch phrase and the only thing he knows how to say. Oopsie the clown with the blood of squirls and tree sap dripping from his mouth, giggling and playing mind games with forest dwellers. So, am I afraid of clowns? Yes.