My cousin Geoffrey suggested this first line. I wrote for five minutes. This is what I got.
"Hit me! Come on hit me, don't tickle me! Hit me like I just robbed your gramma!", the clown pressed Carl.
Carl tried to run. The clown shoved him into the kitchen counter. Out in the living room the other kids were laughing and singing.
The clown pressed his face so close to Carl’s his rubber nose squeaked. “Look you little bastard. I’m not going back to prison without at least one black eye and a few missing teeth. You know what they do to clowns in there? I won’t tell ya but it ain’t funny. The cops know I’ve got a pound of Coke on me. They’ll be here any second so just give me a good pounding so I’m no pretty boy when I get locked up.”
Carl started to cry.
“Come on kid! How’ll you grow up to be a man if you can’t even punch a clown?”
“But what if I’m no good at it?” The little boy wailed. “I’m bad at all the other party games. Pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs….I wasn’t even a good assistant with your magic tricks. What if I’m no good at this game?”
Sirens blared in the distance.
“This isn’t a game kid! I’m going to be killed if you don’t….OKAY! It is a game and you get a new puppy if you break my nose.”
“I don’t want a puppy.”
“Then what do you want? Say, your mom’s boyfriend, Jerry, he’s a real bastard. He spent a lot of money on this party. So I’ll tell you want I’ll make sure it’s ruined if you….”
Carl grabbed the rolling pin off the counter and smashed it into the clown’s face. The clown screamed bloody murder as the boy brought the pin down again and again.
The front door exploded. A SWAT team stormed the house knocking over children, overturning the cake and shoving Jerry into a cactus.
The clown was dragged away covered in blood and burns, “Great job kid! You’re a pro!”