Geese: Are evil birds.



Every summer, a carnival opens in our little town. The kids love the rides at June Jamboree. I come here for the funnel cakes and to get drunk with a bunch of other strangers. I don't remember much. It was all a blur. Somehow I stumbled into a tiny poorly lit tent, and I catch this goose dressed as a clown pumping balloons with the illegal helium that the government seized, giggling like a maniac. The goose must have panicked and we were both drunk as hell as I was begging the mad man to stop chasing me around the tent trying to kill me, frantically reassuring him that I won't tell anyone about the helium balloons. He jumped on top of me and started punching my face with his wings so I stabbed my spur through the webbing of his feet, and he tripped and my ankle was twisted 180 degrees. I don't remember much after that except waking up next to a dirt hole I presumably dug with a throbbing pain in my leg and head. A clown's body was next to mine with both of our feathers sticking to his heavily maked-up face and glass shards from a beer bottle embedded on the left side of his forehead and eye. I took a closer look at his face. My face contorted into an utmost regretful horror as I realize I killed Squeaky the Clown. My childhood.