It's only funny

By Rick Hartford

Trippy the Clown lay stretched out on the bank floor, looking like he died doing jumping jacks. He had a wide wild red smile and bulging eyes, a bullet hole neatly placed in the middle of his forehead.

A bank guard was on his rump by the door, revolver smoldering.

Outside, Hobo the Clown staggered down the street, leaking blood. Cash from open bank bags floated into the air, squealing kids picking up the money. The clown parade was supposed to be passing the door of the bank just in time for their escape. They were going to blend into the crowd. Instead it is now way further down the block. The spectators erupt in laughter as Hobo zig zags by. What a nut! A toy poodle runs at him, snarling and snipping. Boy, that dog is vicious, he thinks, as a powerful bite in his back shoves him to the ground. Someone turns him over. He looks up at the buzzards standing over him. One of them reaches up under his wing, bringing out a phone. They move closer to him as he whispers. “You know what they say, it’s only funny until someone gets hurt.

Then it’s hilarious.”