I know exactly what you mean. The first time I saw my dad raping a circus clown, I felt the same way. The second time was a little easier. Time heals all wounds I suppose. Yet, still, my dreams are occasionally haunted by a crying clown... make-up running down his face... a painted on smile that he doesn't really mean... and the lingering smell of cotton candy... the horror... the horror... I told him it was wrong, but he said everybody loves clowns.

but, does everyone love, or get loved by, a chicken?