Crazy clown life

I've been thinking recently about my failures with relationships with women, and I think it boils down to this: Women are universally insane. Yes, now you know the truth that no man dares utter. At least he doesn't dare if he intends on having any loving in his life any time soon, but since that's not a remote possiblity in my life right now, I feel fairly safe in my utterance, although, of course, I will deny it later should my dream girl appear in real life.

Women are bonkers. Do you understand? They're loony tunes. Nuts. Several bricks shy of a load. A bunch of bananas from the crazy tree. Mad as hatters. Batty as bats. Steeples without bells. Bells without clappers. Clappers without hands. Hands without fingers. Fingers without prints. Prints without ink. Ink without cartridges. Cartridges without guns. Guns without triggers. Trigger without Roy. Roy without Dale. Dale without a valley. Valleys without a river. Rivers without water. Water without wet. Wet without a suit. Suits without a tie. Ties without a knot. Knots without a rope. You get the point, right?

But you've not heard the craziest thing there is, and it's this: I like 'em. I love 'em. I want some more of 'em.

It's obvious that I'm perfect for them because I'm as bonkers -- or even more -- than they are. So what I'm really looking for, what I need, is a woman to be crazy along with me.

We could wear our clown suits as we skip happily through life, throwing pies, spraying seltzer water, tripping people with our huge shoes. We could have lots of kids and get one of those tiny cars and travel around the country spreading happy insanity as we go.

There are worse lives, you know.

Copyright 2011 by Stephen B. Bagley. Excerpted from Return of the Floozy. All rights reserved. No copying without express written permission from the author and publisher.

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