*If you intend to play along with the story from this point, you will need to collect:
1. Your most raggedy set of clothing (preferably with oversized pants) and the largest pair of shoes you can find. Also, some black makeup.
2. A tall glass of water.
3. A chocolate cream pie.
4. A bucket of porridge, beans, thin oatmeal, or similar treacle-like substance that we'll called sludge.
5. A large cream cake.
You will see that item between asterisks like so: *item* when the story directs you ready or place them somewhere, and then read a * symbol each time one of these items is to be employed.*
How dare this buffoon bother you with talk of favors? The cheek! The very idea! You snub the clown and walk around him as if he wasn't there. Thunder rolls ominously in the distance, and you feel obliged to hurry your steps in seek of cover. Odd, it certainly hadn't seemed like it would rain a minute ago.
You turn a corner around a large hedge and run smack into a tough looking gang of local youths.
"Well, what have we here?" queries the leader of the group, "Some poor fool appears to have wandered into our territory without paying our most reasonable toll charge. Collect it from him, boys."
The gang descends on you with frightening celerity, but subject you to but a few small smacks and kicks, as their objective isn't violence; it's your clothes. In a trice, they've stripped you of everything but your tighty whities, and made off with your possessions. Nearly naked and fearful of further loss and degradation, you duck out of the park and into a secluded alley. By a stroke of luck, you come across the very thing you most desire at the moment: *clothes!* You happen to find yourself behind a salvation army store, and within the dumpster are a myriad of very ragged, but relatively clean clothes that the charity group was unable or unwilling to subject others to. You even find a pair of shoes, though they are comically oversized, you know they are far preferable to bare feet in the city. After all, beggars can't be choosers, not that you would ever stoop to begging. You put the ensemble on and immediately begin to feel better*. That is until you take two steps, trip over your new shoes, and land face down in a black puddle. You scrub at your dirty face, but are until to clean away the *black smudges* around your mouth and the tip of your nose*.
You carefully make your way out of the alley at its far end, and find that sunlight brings with it a cacophony of marching bands and cheering crowds. You've managed to stumble upon a parade of some sort, and lo and behold, a troupe of clowns come capering down the street in front of you, one of them pops up right beside you and takes your arm.
"Great hobo clown getup, man! What are you doin' on the sidelines? Get out there with your own kind!"
The clown drags you out into the street with the other buffoons, heedless of your protests, which he cannot hear now for the marching band behind you. Surrounded now, you have no choice but to march along with them. You look and feel about as miserable as you ever have, but the crowds only believe its part of of your hobo clown persona.
Up ahead, you catch sight of something in the road that vague resembles a *chocolate cream pie.* Upon closer inspection, you discover that the pie in question is not chocolate, but in fact of the type that is produced by the backside of an elephant. You wrinkle your nose in disgust, and are about to straighten up away from the foul object when a prankish kick to the behind from another clown sets you off balance. You hang for a moment, with your arms pinwheeling out of control and land face first into the pie shaped dung*. Your first reaction is to shake your head violent to escape the creamy mess, but that only smears more of it from ear to ear until you can plant your hands on the ground and push yourself out of it. Those of the crowd who aren't disgusted by your predicament are pointing at you and laughing uproariously.
Once you've cleaned the mess from your eyes, nose and mouth, you stalk away as fast as your troublesome shoes will let you. As you reach the sidewalk, you come upon a large puddle of *water* that your must take a long uneasy step to cross over. As you are straddling the puddle, you here a loud honking horn behind you. No sooner do you pull your foot away from the street than a group of Shriners in mini-cars come racing down the street through the large puddle. Small wheels send the puddles water rushing up to meet your face with a great splash*.
Drenched and depressed, you slink down another alley with intent to throw a pity party for one. You find an inviting box to sit on, with a nice comfortable stretch of wall to rest your head against. You relax and have nearly started to doze when a bum comes puttering down the alley and offers you a comment.
"You don't want to sit there, mack. That's the *sludge* spot. It's filthy."
You look around you for a moment to find some indication of the filth he's spoken of, but a quick examination tells you that while, you are moderately filthy, the bum is overwhelming dirty, and the spot where you are sitting is surprisingly clean. Theorizing that this bum is just trying to scare you off so that he can claim the spot, you ignore him and lean your head back against the wall. The bum shrugs and moves on down the alley to join an apparent friend of his. After a minute passes by, you feel something drip onto your forehead*. You open your eyes to see a deluge of sludge cascade down through a drainpipe directly over your head. With catlike reflexes, you lean forward in time to avoid taking most of the sludge over your head. Unfortunately, this offers the sludge an open path down the back of your pants and into your undies. The pair of bums sitting further down the alley are cackling wildly at you as you struggle to your feet.
Sodden and sticky, you make your way back out to the street. The parade has passed and the crowd has left now. You discover a bakery that you weren't able to see before, and inside it, you see a great variety of tantalizing sweets that set your mouth watering. Stepping outside of the confectionery, a waitress comes wearing a cute pink uniform dress and bearing a large *cream cake.* Your stomach rumbles and you drop to your knees in front of her. Discarding your last shred of pride, you beg her for something to eat. She sniffs at you in disapproval and walks around you. Thunder rolls. In your peripheral vision, you spy the waitress stepping on a greasy banana peel, and shrieking as she slips and tosses the cake high in the air.
You smile to yourself your take comfort in the knowledge that your curse of bad karma has finally gone on to someone else. Then, the cake falls onto your head*.
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