*If you intend to play along with the story from this point, you will need to collect:
1. A pair of baggy pants with suspenders, a pair of white gloves, and a pair of clown shoes or the largest pair of shoes you can find. Also, a clown nose.
2. A small bag of flour.
3. Three cream pies.
4. A dozen eggs.
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.*
You have no desire to walk into a circus ring with a clown, and you're not a dating agency. Therefore, you will oblige the clown his favor by helping him move his "stuff."
"Alrighty then, my samaritous crony, just hop into my clown car and away we'll go!"
You hadn't considered that aiding the clown might mean riding in his ridiculous little car, but after having already agreed to help, you can't back out now. The fool directs you to sit in the back, as the front passenger seat is over flowing with various props. In the back, you find your position rather cramped and dark as much of the back windows have been painted over on the outside with clowns performing circus themed antics. When the clown takes the driver's seat and closes the door, you can no longer see your own clothes, only the street over the driver's shoulder.
"Now I gotta warn you, this favor you're doing for me could get just a little messy and there could be some heavy lifting, but before you object, let me offer you some protective gear for the job. If you check near your feet, you'll find a pair of work *pants* you can wear instead of those nice slacks, and under them, you'll find some work *boots and gloves*."
Though you can't see them, you can feel each of the items he's listed, and so you take advantage of the dark and change into the gear he's offered you*.
The car comes to a halt and the clown gets out, opening the way for you to do the same. As you make your exodus from the little car, you notice that you've pulled up in front of a rather nice looking bakery. You also realize that the so called "work gear" you've changed into are really a baggy pair of clown pants, white clown gloves, and a long pair of floppy clown shoes. From the waist down you look ridiculous, and all you can do to retain some of your dignity is hold the baggy pants up to keep them from dropping and exposing your underwear.
"Looking much better," says the duplicitous dupe, "you just need your face protecting rubber *nose* guard, and we'll be all ready to get to work."
While your hands are busy holding your pants up, he shoves a glue laden clown nose over yours, then pulls the suspenders attached to your pants up over your shoulders*. You're marginally grateful that he's freed your hands, but that little bit of gratitude evaporates when he playfully pulls your suspenders forward and lets them snap back to your chest painfully. You reach for his open car door to retrieve your discarded normal clothes, but the buffoon pushes it shut and locks it before you can grab it.
"No need to drive anywhere else, what we're moving is in there," asserts the clown, indicating the bakery.
Resigned and rubbing your smarting chest, you follow the clown into the bakery. Inside, you behold racks and stacks of pies and cake in every variety imaginable. You feel a growing sense of dread considering the dangerous mix of such a setting and your present company, but you are considerably distracted when you realize that your company has just been increased by one; A waitress in a pretty pink uniform leans lazily over a counter full of colorful pies. She glances at you and smirks, and your cheeks burn as you try to hide behind the clown who dressed you in this distressing attire.
"What are you doin' back there, my mum mate? Fixing to become a mime? " the clown doesn't bother to turn around and addresses the waitress with a greeting, "Don't mind him, he's just a tad shy, we're here to pick up the big cake we ordered earlier for the party this evening."
The waitress nods lethargically and extends an indicating finger toward the kitchen in the back. Considering her job done, she turns her attention back to the front window and ignores you both completely. The clown opens the door to the kitchen and ushers you in.
"Well, it looks like we're going to have to build this cake on our own. Go get me some flour, friend, we're going to have to hurry if we're going to have it ready before the party starts."
The clown pushes you towards a tall rack with a ladder leaning against it, way up at the top of the rack, you spy a bag of *flour.* You make it about halfway up the ladder, when it starts to wobble. You throw out your arms to grab the rack and in doing so shake the rack enough to cause the bag of flour to lean forward above you. Gingerly, you put your hands back on the ladder and very slowly continue your ascent towards the bag. You are haldly more than an arms reach away from it when you hear the clown call for you from below.
"How you doin' up there, cousin? Found that flour yet?"
To ensure he's got your attention, the clown bangs on the ladder a couple times, shaking it terribly. You instinctively grab the rack again for support, and the bag of flour tips forward and pours out all over your upturned face*.
You descend the ladder and confront the clown with a face as white as his own makeup. He does a quick take when he sees you, then shakes his head.
"Uh, never mind about the flour, I found another bag. Could you get me some eggs?"
You just look at him.
"Well, fine then, I'll get them myself."
The clown strolls over to a large refrigerator and pulls out a *carton of eggs.*
"Now, was that so hard? Honestly, I don't know what the fuss was about. Here, I found em, you crack em."
The clown tosses a couple eggs right at you before you are ready and they splatter over your head*.
"You gotta catch em, now. Theses things are fragile."
You desperately try to grab them out of the air as he tosses them, but fail utterly, those eggs that don't splatter against you manage to land in your pants, with too many to carry and many already in your pants, you stuff a few into your underwear before they can fall down your pant legs.*
"Don't stuff em in there! These eggs are supposed to be food, you know."
The clown gives you a reprimanding kick to your backside, which crushes all the eggs inside your underwear.*
"Ahem," the waitress has entered the kitchen and witness your humiliating debacle with complete disapproval. She also appears to be pointing at something on a rack beside her. It's the cream cake you came for, long since finished and waiting for you.
"Oops," mumbles the clown, "didn't see it there. Guess we won't have to bake one after all. Sorry about the mess."
The waitress just crosses her arms and waits, glaring at you both.
"Go get the cake, won't you?"
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