Now on KaosRadioAustin.org TUESDAYS 3-5PM CENTRAL TIME (95.9 on your Austin, TX FM dial, ya knobs)
Feel free to "Facebook" my lame visage.
And while you're at it, why not follow my pathetic ass on "Twitter." Or some such sh*t.
"This is not your step-father's telegram clown. Knee-slappingly funny!"
- Office Cubicle Drone (OCD)
"Imagine, unless you can help it, Emmett Kelly and Lenny Bruce rolled into a burrito from hell. Or Bozo the Clown and Bill Hicks on rye. Perhaps then you can answer the question that's long burned on humanity's lips: 'Does the pope sh*t in the woods?' Amen."
- Modern Clown Monthly
"Fellini would pass a stone."
- Sitdown Magazine
"FUgly is a zen master of the improvised insult. This klown ('with a K') somehow strikes a poetic balance between repulsion and pathos. He's the Don Rickles of clowns. And then some."
- The Deadpan Journal
"So this is Gloria Steinem and Tony Clifton's bastard son? Well, whoever he is, he's like a shaman in floppy shoes; a dark comic symbol of all that's wrong with terminally-adolescent America. 'Obscene vowels.' F*ckin' ugly, indeed. Fugly the Klown puts a whole new spin on laugh-'til-you-cry comedy."
- Mondo Turbid
"[Stacey] Sher presents the bizarre conspiracy theory that not only do people mistakenly think [Jim] Carrey is posing as [Tony] Clifton, but that he's also believed to be piling on the greasepaint as Fugly the Clown [sic], an obnoxious gate crasher who interrupted Bob Zmuda at a book reading in West Hollywood to claim that Tony Clifton is his deadbeat dad."
- Entertainment Weekly
"Fugly the Klown got swooped in on the conspiracies and everybody went nuts. We had a video clip from the Zmuda book signing, and everyone thought we made it all up. We didn't. I sure hope someone is paying him for his effort, or else it's just kind of depressing. You make the call."
- andylives[dot][org]
The only clown that I have use for anymore is Fugly the Clown [sic]. He can either be the worst thing you ever saw, or the funniest."
- Hyperbolic Chamber
Now, look into my x'd-out eyes and face the horror...the sheer terror that is...the "C" word.
Comedy is dead. Long live absurdity...
I am not a comedian. I'm a guerrilla absurdist. Or some such sh*t.
Raised (lowered is more like it) by foster parents as Shat-Upon the Anti-Clown in Shinola, IL, I later ran away and joined the circus that is Sh*tcago, where I hosted Hell, a WCBR FM radio show, and appeared on the boob tube in episodes of Wild Chicago and The WGN Morning News (home of Bozo's Circus). I also found myself gloriously featured in "alternative" news weekly, New City (which, incidentally, makes a great litter box liner), as well as demoralized in cartoon form by beloved illustrator, Ivan Brunetti. However, after years of enduring heatstroke and frostbite, I'd had my fill of the Broken Windy City.
Following my move to Hollyw%d, I reverted to my birthname, FUgly the KlowN, and entered into litigation (which continues to this day) with my diabolical/biological deadbeat daddy and mommy dearest, Tony Clifton and Goria Steinem. There in the land of store-bought tits, I denied being Andy Kaufman (especially after arriving at the Man on the Moon premiere in a super stretch limo) while I performed my "sit-down komedy" routine outside the Improv, Comedy Store, and Laugh Factory. The nascent days of online radio found me as the host of One Beat Off on LuxuriaMusic. (What an afterthought that was.) I also appeared, against my will, on Mark Ebner's Drastic Radio and L.A. cable cult classic, Call If You Dare with Mickey Ramos. Alas, the Mayor of La La Land asked me to leave, after I refused to have collagen injected into my frown.
Now, after snorting mountains of Prozac, I've finally stumbled upon true weirdness in Awe-Stun, TX and/or Hell. At last, I've found my people. Or some such people. In addition to being the world's only frowning telegram klown, I'm on the radio via the dirty air waves of KAOS FM. You can also find me "entertaining" the drunken masses at Austin comedy clubs (all two of 'em) such as The Velveeta Room or Cap City Comedy Club. And so the twisted tale continues to contort. In the meantime, hire me so I can maintain my serious Prozac habit.
For the broken record, I am not an "evil," "psycho," or "killer" clown. I am a depressed klown, with a K, okay?
I don't wear make-up because I'm allergic to greasepaint. I wear a mask, superhero-style, while on-camera, trick-or-treating, even when I drop the kids off at the pool."
Like most of you knobs, I never evolved past my adolescence, emotionally speaking. And then there's my attention span...
bOObies!!
Where the hell was I? Oh yeah. Unlike the majority of you, I can f*cking admit it. (Boobies RULE.) That said, I'm running for President of the United States in 2012 as an independent, via the Prozac-Snorting Party. I pledge a Free Vowel Future for all! Plus, I vow to abolish hypocrisy by legalizing prostitution. Put a real klown in the White House. If you do, I promise to paint the old barn in DayGlo polka-dots.
PUT A CONDOM ON THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT! VOTE FUGLY THE KLOWN FOR PREZ IN 2012! OR SOME SUCH SH*T...
I've been censored for so long that I'm now incapable of speaking or typing without substituting f*cking asterisks for the first "obscene" vowel of every so-called expletive. But those nippledicks at the F.u.C.k.C. won't stop me from uttering the "dirty" words that are so dear to me. Profanity, I f*cking swear by it.
I'm only on this corporate-controlled site because my handlers, Hemi Ballismus and Bob Gnoblik, told me it was good for "networking." Just kidding. But seriously. And no, I'm not trying to be "funny." But go ahead, brain trust. Laugh 'til you lactate. But then ask yourself...
They don't call me the "Freak Avenger of the Depressed" for nothin'. Or some such freak.
Jesus Bozo Christ on a stick. Just writing this sh*t is depressing. And MySpace lives for censorsh*t. F*cking hypocritical, sensationalistic news-mongers. "News Corp," my rubber f*cking nose. "News" is nothing but gossip. And gossip is just another word for slander. We're all hypocrites on this fun house ride. And sooner than later, NewsCorp, Disney and the F.u.C.k.C. will merge with Time-Warner, and the idiot-proof boob tube-in-a-box will be owned and run by one corporate Hollyw%d entity: TIME.
It's a reality show-eat-reality show world, and we're all wearing remote control underwear.
Life. Death. It's ALL schtick. Or some such schtick.
See you in Hell...
XX
FUgly the KlowN America's Sweetheartburn
* denotes "obscene" vowel as per the F.u.C.k.C.
P.S. Are you still here? If you made it this far, you must have a hell of a lot of time on your hands. Either that or you're even more pathetic than me, which would really be saying something. Whatever the case, you may actually give half a sh*t. So on that note, write this down, genius...
I am available for surprise office visits, general birthday greetings, weddings/funerals (funerals ALWAYS 1/2 price), and events that entail an encounter with a depressed, Prozac-snorting klown. #
See fuglytheklown [dot] [com] for the gory details. And no, I do not perform for kids, damn it. I have a dread fear of children. Seriously. And no, I am not in any way, shape, or form a stripping klown. Trust me. I don't even like to see myself naked.
( # Serving selct areas of Austin, TX only, unless you want to shell out the funny money to fly my lame ass to your thrilling little event and back.)
P.P.S. For all you comedic conspiracy theorists (all 13 of you), I've never claimed to be Andy Kaufman. I'm the bastard son of Tony Clifton. Or some such Cl*fton.
all disinformation copywrong forever Or Some Such Productions.
