Shitz and Gigglez – The Adult Clowns turned up to the party in their battered and rusty station wagon. It’d taken them over an hour to drive up the winding road and they were pissed. As they pulled into the drive, they saw the distinctive matte black van of their arch nemeses, Spliffz and Stonez – We’ll Break Their Bones: Party Security.
Shitz and Gigglez alighted from their mode of travel and eyed the towering man-mountains from afar. They retreated to the back of their station wagon and selected their means of assault. ‘Wait a second, comrade’ said Shitsz. He drew out a mirror and corrected his mask, smearing paint all over his face, ‘much better’ he concluded and progressed.
Shitz walked low, knees bent, then riding high, bobbing like he had something to hide, Gigglez guffawed as he strode.
They sauntered up to their foes, who eyed them silent – not even a twitch. ‘Names’ came the command, a clipboard whisked from a jacket. Shitz and Gigglez smiled, they’d played this game, they knew these rules. ‘Mr Shitz esquire and Lord Gigglez’ if you please good sirs’ came the well mannered reply.
Spliffz peered down at the clipboard, brain whirring, steam emanating, a bead of sweat as he paid close attention. With a wry smile, he thrust out the clipboard and taunted ‘Your names not down, you’re not getting in’. They examined the list, examined it close, not even a mark was on the blank page.
As quick as a flash Gigglez drew out a mallet and bashed poor Spliffz square on the noggin – he faltered and fell. Gigglez zoomed by, Stonez reaching out for a collar, now Stonez was divided, Shitz or Gigglez, who to accost? ‘I surrender good sir’ the words from Shitz – Stonez approached him with glee.
A quick button-press later and a stream of liquid shot from a flower upon his lapel, it sent Stonez reeling and they were in. A jaunty walk to the entrance and a quick heave ho, opened the doors to the party.
A soothing emanation of cello and piano met their ears, the raging party was not so, they imagined vodka, they got cheese. For bikinis, they got cardigans. The dancing and gyrating a thing of wishing as the occupants sat stoically.
Bemused, they checked the address, they checked it twice – ‘Well, ya either gotta laugh or cry’ Gigglez vexated as he rolled in the tear gas and laughed.