Less Bush More Porn!

Porn Clowns Go To Washinton

With the ceremonial popping of a three-foot balloon by the keys to one of the rental vans, Steven Black kicked off the clown trek to Washington DC Monday morning.

As the Manhattan traffic gave way to open road the clownicade followed through beautiful green fields and forests of yellow trees. The sun broke through the clowns as we crossed expansive waterways and paid toll after toll.


The rental car place was out of polka-dotted vans, so when the clowns cut in line at the toll booths, we rolled down our windows and flashed clowny faces to "shock and awe" other drivers long enough to cut in.

Once in DC, Carl Heiney checked us into a downtown hotel and smuggled the clowns up the elevator. Next stop: the monuments and the fruition of our clowny plight.

Just as the Washington monument came into view, Navy choppers circled the area. Porn Clowns take Washington DC! Most people ignored us. We handed out pages from porn magazines that read "MORE PORN, LESS BUSH... porn clown posse"

Steven Black donned an American flag shirt and the G.W. Bush mask for a Photo-op in front of the White House. Carl Heiney shot crowd reactions. We saw sewer grills as missile silos. We defiantly walked through high school kick ball games.
We shot porny pictures on the capital lawn. We talked about separation of church and state with a pastor in front of his church's bible collection and amplified reading of the scripture.

We sent Achtung! and Steven Black to the airport with one of the rental vans and set ourselves off to find the "Lickin monu-mount." When we finally found it, we dragged our dead-clown asses up the many steps. I sang, "Mammas, don't let yer babies grow up to be clownies" to the crowd.

We shot a few pictures of ourselves with Abe the Clown, until Rugburns mistakenly called some bigot spawn "children." The bigots called the clowns, "idiots." FreakBALL--in character of his new clown "Ultra Violent"said, "FUCK YOU!" There was yelling. There was bigot spit. There was puffing of chests and clowns saying "go ahead, hit me." There were National Park Rangers. We were ready to leave. They were ready for us to leave. Ultimately there were police officers offering to escort us back in to take pictures. The officers thought we were related to "bikini guy." There was clown jaywalking. For more information, see the pictures.
Then the clowns found a hip area of Washington DC and went bar hopping. At the first place--a biker bar named Asylum--we drank and ate hot sauce so hot that it burned the skin it touched. Carl cried. Freekball threw up. Before heading off to the next bar, Rugburns, Flambeau and I set a girl in a chair and gave her a good clown job.

We sorta talked our way past the cover at the next bar--Mamma's Sumthin Sumthin. We then walked up the street fielding questions from the conservative PARTY college jocks on our hunt for food and booze.

Snatchy and I returned the clowns to the hotel, then the rental van to the airport.

We all slept hard and awoke almost a half-day late for checkout. After an afternoon of coffee, food on the neighborhood street and a picnic with beer and screwdrivers in a beautiful park, we returned to the Washington monument to see if we could ride the elevator to the top. No dice. It turns out the government only sells a limited number of tickets a day, for some clownless reason.

So Freekball and Smooshi drove the rest of us to the airport in their rental van. Dulles is huge and sweeping. The moving gate shuttles were bizarre and post apocalyptic in front of the setting sun.

~Gnawtee