Be warned, this is definitely for a more mature audience. More specifically, a dysfunctional, mature (immature) audience.
I’m going to show you a typical day in my life.

My name is “Creepy” the Clown, but you can call me Creepy. I’m no different from any other stuffed clown that graduated from Yale with honors.

By night you’ll typically find me hiding in your closet, or out on your dinner table at 3 am. scaring the ripe sh-- out of everyone in your house. Some people say, “Creepy, how do you do it? How did you get so damn scary?” For me it’s just a job. I didn’t choose this life. Horrifying people doesn’t define me.

I also have a tender side.

I didn’t start out all creepy and scary, no. The streets did that to me. I’m not going to say those children forced themselves on me, but the facts speak for themselves. . You can only have some disgusting little kid keister you for so many nights before you start hiding in closets and crawling under beds.

Pretty soon you realize that if you haunt those little bastards, they quit fondling you. It was my fear that galvanized my abilities to lurk and horrify those little assholes – some of which are reading this book right now. All those dark memories made me the clown I am today . . . the clown you fear!

Just to be clear, success has definitely gone to my head. By all accounts, I’m a real piece of shit. If you leave me alone with your stuffed animals, then you’d better have your sewing kit ready because I’m ripping them a new one.

- You can call me “Creepy.”