|Author: Charie D La Marr|
A colorful and often controversial personality, she is known as a redhead with a redheaded attitude. She lives in NY with her mother and son (who works for her as her PA) and fur children Bailey Corwin, Babe Ruth and Casey Stengel. She has a degree in Interior Design, Summa Cum Laude, from New York Institute of Technology. She also spent nine years wearing the motley as a professional clown.
A few words from the author:
Hi my name is Charie D. La Marr, creator of the genre Circuspunk. Some of you might know me from Facebook as Persiphone Hellecat and some might even know me from the nine years I spent as a professional clown as Kotton Kandy.
So why, do you ask, does a person who spent nine years wearing the motley suddenly start writing stories where clowns blow up? First of all, that is only a part of Circuspunk. Circuspunk can bring in any other genres that you want—from romance to sci fi and everything inbetween. The stories include circuses, carnivals and fairs, midways, freak shows and sideshows, clown, magicians, freaks, acrobats, carnies … all of it!
And the reason is simple. Behind all that splatter and funk, I love the circus! This is a very irreverent, but loving look at a subject near and dear to my heart. But I just got tired of hearing people say, “I #$%$%$% hate clowns!” I would show them my picture and they would agree that as a clown, I was adorable, but they still hated clowns and wanted to see them wiped off the face of the earth. So I decided, if people want to blow up clowns, let’s do it MY way—with tongue firmly planted in cheek. And so Circuspunk was born. I hope that it makes people laugh and desensitizes that clown phobia. I consider it an antidote.
Now, that is not to say that I don’t understand clown phobia in children. As a clown, I took many courses in the psychology of children and how to handle them. I understand that we raise our kids telling them not to talk to strangers. And yet the first time they see a clown, they push the kid into the clown’s arms and get out the camera. I would freak too if my parents made me hug the strangest person I ever saw! I learned to get down to their level, stay back and talk softly and work to gain their trust until they came to me. I would talk about what was on their t-shirts, what their favorite subject in school was, anything to loosen them up and gain their confidence. And the truth was, I ended up in literally thousands of baby books because I never met a kid who ended up not liking me.
Sadly, I cannot say the same of their parents. I was a performing clown. I did magic shows, I walked around with magic tricks in my pockets and puppets. I was not a gumball machine. I didn't give out cheap trinkets or make animal balloons. I saw way too many parents allow young ones to suck on those balloons and once saw a kid have to have a cheap ten cent ring pulled out of her throat.
My message is simple. Love us. We walk around all day in costumes that sometimes weigh close to ten pounds with wigs and full makeup in the hot sun. We get shin splints from working on unforgiving concrete surfaces. We work hard taking classes and keeping our skills and talents sharp and growing. And we ask nothing more from you than a smile. Is that a lot to ask for?
Bumping Noses and Cherry Pie - an excerpt...
From The Tunnel of Love
“God damn it, I hate this fucking job,” said Mike Polkowski. He was wearing hip waders, standing in the icy-cold and filthy water at the Tunnel of Love with a pool cleaner, fishing out condoms, panties, bras and other assorted items.
He pulled out another condom. “Oh hell, look. Another Coney Island blowfish. At least this fucktard thought enough to tie a knot in the end. Most of them don’t seem to mind polluting the gene pool. Do you realize this water contains literally thousands of babies? Maybe millions?”
“Yeah right,” said his partner Phil Bognaki. He had pulled the plugs out of the bottom of the boats and was busy using a mop and disinfectant to swab out the spunk and other substances. “Can’t these people go home to boink like everybody else? Or like, get a room maybe? What is it about the Tunnel of Love that makes people want to get naked and churn butter?”
“Beats the shit out of me,” Mike said. “I mean, it’s a goddamn carnival ride! Go blow your load on the roller coaster.”
“We should do something about this crap,” Phil said. “You know, find some way to put a stop to this. There has to be a way to fix it so makin’ bacon is unpleasant during the Tunnel of Love ride and people stop doing it.”
“Yeah, and how come all the rest of the carnies get nice jobs like handing out cute teddy bears, yo-yos and key chains and I’m standing in a puddle of someone else’s unborn children?”
“Because it’s a good job for you two dumb Pollacks.” It was the boss standing behind them. “If you two assholes want better jobs with the show, you gotta start at the bottom. Pay your dues. And that means fishing for poon balloons at the Tunnel of Love.”
Mike fished out a red satin thong. “Holy shit, I wish I had the girl who fit into this! If she was the pony outside K Mart, I’d get a roll of quarters and ride her all day.”
The boss chuckled. “Boy, you have about as much chance of getting a babe like that as a snowball has in hell. Now get to work!” He snatched the thong from Mike and turned to walk away.
“Like he’d have a chance with her,” Phil said.
“I think he’s going to put them on,” said Mike.
“Or maybe sniff them.”
They both laughed.
The boss turned around. “What did you say, brain dead Pollack?”
“I said yes, boss, going to work, boss.”
“Well you better, or you’re not even gonna have a job mopping up jizz around here. Now get busy. The gates open soon.”
When the gates opened that afternoon, Mike and Phil were in really bad moods. It was Phil’s turn to take the tickets and Mike’s turn to help the people into the boats. He was supposed to buckle them in, but what was the point?
The first couple in line was already all over each other. Phil took their tickets and tore them in half.
“Enjoy your ride in the Tunnel of Love,” he said, handing the ticket stubs to the guy. “And try to keep it in your pants today, okay?”
“Well, I never!” the girl said indigently.
“Somehow, I doubt that sweetheart.” Phil said.
She was about to respond, but her boyfriend grabbed her hand and hurried her off to a boat. Phil estimated he was already at half-mast. They would be humpin’ and bumpin’ as soon as the boat disappeared into the tunnel.
The second couple that walked up with tickets was two guys. They were dressed alike in white pants, striped shirts and sailor hats, holding hands.
“We just got married!” one of them said. They both held up their rings for Phil to see.
“Well la-de-fucking-da! Get in the goddamn boat! Enjoy your honeymoon,” Phil said.
Next came an old bald guy in a leisure suit with a beer belly, escorting two barely legals—one on each arm. He handed Phil three tickets.
“Sorry pal. Two at a time. You’ll have to leave one of your daughters here and ride again.”
“Very funny,” the man said grabbing Phil by the shirt. “They ain’t my daughters and there ain’t no sign that says, “Two at a time”. I got three tickets and I say we all ride together.”
“Sure, why not?” Phil said. “Who gets to get banged first?”
“You should have such problems,” the guy said, chuckling as they walked away.