The clown is my id, greedy and impatient and uncaring of the mess it might make in its quest to get off a good joke. Any asshole off the street can slap on a polka-dot tie and juggle some oranges and claim to be something they’re not. To be a real clown, you must accept that it changes you into something hard and occasionally cruel. Jokes aren’t always sweet. Take, for example, the court jester. A role meant to entertain only the king, the jester finds ways to make his ruler laugh, often at the expense of others—but always at the expense of himself. In order to perfect my art, I must let it
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