"What kind of scary-ass clowns came to your birthday parties?"

Unlike most Americans, I was not watching the Super Bowl this evening. There was a time when the Super Bowl was a big deal. I looked forward to the party, the game, the halftime show and, of course, the commercials. But I didn't watch it for two years while I lived in Thailand, and now I've got Journey on Sunday nights.
This week after Journey, the 10 of us who were there went out to dinner afterwards. The game was on all the TVs, so I still got to watch some of it. I think I might have been the only one in our group paying any attention to it at all. I cheered when a touchdown was made. When it was the Eagles and then the Patriots. I saw a good commerical or two. But most of the people on my end of the table were more preoccupied with Ziggy the Clown.
Ziggy was a very scary looking clown sitting on a swing inside a box. Every once in a while he would start to swing back and forth or shake side to side. For a quarter, his box promised he would talk. It was unnerving. Yet we couldn't help but wonder what it was he would say. And so one friend decided to give a quarter to Ziggy and hear what he had to say. It was rather loud in the bar, so we couldn't really hear Ziggy talk. But he did give her an egg. And inside the egg was a home-boy for Jesus. It was sweet. Well worth the quarter.
And then my friend gave me a quarter. So once again we strained to hear what Ziggy would say. I listened carefully as he said, "I've got an egg for you." Such a let down. And then carnival music started playing. The exact kind you might hear before the killer clown attacks innocent people. Well, the egg Ziggy gave me had a little, orange lamb on a clip. So I clipped my lamb to my key ring. Hey, it was only a quarter. And it wasn't my quarter.