Have you read this first?
Being Freshly Pressed twice and featured on The Daily Post in the same amount of time it took White Baby Jesus to create the world packs a punch: your kids call you “Sir Clown Dad”, your ego wants a corner office and its own parking spot, and your distant relatives start selling your baby photos to the tabloids. Here is the quick and dirty version of what to expect on A Clown on Fire.
I am not really a clown. I’m not really on fire either. But I was born with a penis, and my name is Eric—which means “king”… Better than being a burning jester, wouldn’t you say? I blog about my brand, my family, and Le Clown’s magnificence™. My readership is split between Carnies and Hecklers—choose your clan well. I will use “Paul Ryan” instead of “fuck”, magnificent™ over awesome, and a fair amount of Oxford commas. I blame my poor grammar on English, my bastard of an adopted tongue.
Le Clown is married to blogger The Ringmistress from Laments and Lullabies. The Ringmistress takes great pleasure in ribbing Le Clown about his 98% female readership. Le Clown has a way with the ladies. Back in 2009, we had the splendid idea of conceiving a child—we weren’t even drunk. On February 10, 2010, we had our last full night of sleep.
Tiny Geek is our daughter. A gifted child: she has learned to survive without eating, or sleeping, or putting clothes on… even during the cold winters of Canadaland. She possesses the ability to levitate, she will knee Le Clown in the testicles and get away with it, and is fluent in Latin. She will wake up during the dead hour, and stare at me until I wake up, crying.
Everything I write is false—all but what is true.
Want to find Le Clown on the interweb? Let my Escif avatars guide you.
When I am not busy ruling the world with this blog, I play on my other two blogs: