hehe... isn't it common knowledge that a clown packs?
This strip is underrated, I think.

Ladies often tells me i'm quite the clown.

Does this mean i packs?

Requiem and clown pax

"Shakes The Clown", the Citizen Kane of alcoholic clown movies, is your only required reference source. Florence Henderson learns about clown packages in the opening scenes.

You know how having a big car means you compensate for having an undersized package? How big is a clown's car?

yeah but what about how most clowns can only afford to carpool with like ten other clowns
how does that fit into the metaphor?

If one dude with a big truck has a tiny dick, 20 dudes with one tiny car must have enormous dongs. This is math.

on the street they call it loose math.

Weird, I always thought it was floppy math.

I registered just to chubby this.

Ray is great clown Pagliacci.

But, Doctor! I am an ancient medallion that keeps people from being depressed!

"It symbolizes a clown!"
I so love Ray.

Drink a lot, do smack.

Then start a jazz band.

look like andy warhol's grandpa.

He could cry and sing in Italian.

A BLOO BLOO BLOO A BLOO

It would need more hand gestures and rogue vowels to be italian, though.

(To be blubbered to 'La donna è mobile')

It's the alt-text that does it for me on this one:

"Please write 500 words on the subject of getting cruised by the Michelin Man"

Getting Cruised by the Michelin Man:A Love Story

As a girl, I am often faced with an unreasonable quandary on the subject of auto-repair. I should be able to fix my own car, yet I inevitably make the ill-fated pilgrimage to the Jiffy-Lube when it begins wheezing and emitting a seemingly endless flow of ectoplasmic white goo from ears and mouth. Guys are never faced with the burden of upholding a stereotype whenever they want their spark plugs replaced. Lucky bastards. But I digress.
One fortune-stricken day my motorcar simply refused to move, like at all. I was late for work this day, and PMSing something fierce, and honestly not in the mood for this sort of crap. Dreading the cat-calls and condescension with which my patronage was sure to be met, I followed the only reasonable course of action; I dressed in my boyfriend%u2019s clothes, donned some aviator shades, and underwent an intensive voice-training regimen, and emerged Charlie. Now I was ready to get my oil changed.
Using my newly-acquired man-swagger, I marched into the garage and asked to speak to Steve in my low man-voice. I requested his assistance and was treated with deference and respect. It felt good. I mean really, really good. Steve recommended the best oil, not just the priciest one and I thought, %u201CHey, I could get used to this.%u201D I decided to let the mendacious burlesque play out a little longer.
With my engine now purring like Eartha Kitt, I skedaddled on about my business. It being a Saturday, I decided to check out my town%u2019s nightlife. I pulled up to my usual bar and was greeted by a rather fetching brown-eyed valet. It was then the idea hit me like an angel slapping pudding. For the moment, I was for all intents and purposes, a dude. But I was a dude openly ogling my fellow dudes. This could be my chance to be a gay dude! The garage fumes had clearly gotten into my frontal lobe and were interfering with my ability to think clearly. I realize this now.
Cut to the Peppermint Honcho, where you find me slouched miserably over the counter with a half-empty Rob Roy in one hand and a uterus full of angry kittens it feels like. What the hell was I thinking? All the guys here were prettier than me, and most of them did not smell like fossil fuels. Then a pale, gentleman of considerable gravity lowered and arranged his bulk on the stool next to mine. He placed an order for two Caribbean Screwdrivers in a soothing baritone. My mother was right; all the good ones are either taken or gay. I was jerked from the lake of my despair by the line of coconut rum and a gentle smile. %u201CI hope you don%u2019t mind me asking,%u201D he said,%u201Dbut have you been working on your car recently? I do love the smell of gasoline.%u201D I blinked at him once, twice, before he hastened in, his pale skin flushing prettily,%u201DI%u2019m Mitch, by the way.%u201D

Dammit, BBCode, those are quotation marks and you know it! 500 words exactly and you fuck up basic punctuation. you know what, SCREW YOU, BBCODE, FUCK YOU1

Man, Achewood inspires people do some strange shit.

Chubby for the effort, but you can't make me read it.

I want to be the Michelin Man for halloween, but just so we're clear, nobody is getting coconut rum drinks.

you would think Ray would get Quality out of an $800 costume. That costume looks like a homeless bag ladie with early onset macular degeneration sewed it while she was low on glucose.

And we all know how much Pierrot packs:

[IMGS OFF]
HALLO, BOY!

So, I suppose showing you a harlequin baby would be just mean then?

Those things are awesome when you never want to have sex with a girl. Just let her catch you jerkin' it to a video of a harlequin baby slowly opening and closing it's asshole-like mouth!

there is a Local clown known as "Giggleblast"

i am kidding. (i am definitely not kidding. there will be a picture soon enough.)