This may be the single most horrifying clown I’ve ever seen. And the worst part of it is, it’s actually not that bad a paint job–but someone actually, intentionally, painted this.

Maybe it wasn’t intentional. Maybe they thought, “oh, red nose. Peaked eyebrows over white eyes. Yes. Yes. This is coming along quite clownishly.” And then, they added some master stroke–my bet would be the black lipstick, or maybe the somehow sinister twinkle in its eye, and that one dot of fatal ink kicked it over from “a bit jolly, a bit disturbing” to “Chucky from ‘Child’s Play.’”

Here he is, ladies and gentlemen. In the center ring.

I challenge you to find a clown more likely to give Bart Simpson nightmares than this guy. Good luck with that.

I think what sets him apart from the run-of-the-mill buffoons is the one lazy eye. It adds a dazed, somewhat corpsey tone to the overall effect. “When I can get both my eyes on you, little girl, it’ll be too late to run!” sort of thing. We understand that a great deal of effort went into painting this clown. We also understand that Hitler was something of an amateur painter, and while we are not drawing any undue comparisons, we believe the reader will discern the logical conclusion that there is something very dark inside a painter.

Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin

Would you pay $20 for a set of small intestines cleverly woven into a very small clown? Yes, please!

I really wanted to post this to crow about a completely awesome new crapeterium that opened on Lamar and Manchacha, what a magical wonderland of crazy stuff it was, just next door to Far Out Furnishings. I did. It was a cottage crammed full of peculiarities, including this little guy here, who obviously reigned supreme over everything he saw. I would recommend that you drop everything, including your job if need be, to run down there, but they closed. So you could go there and beat on the windows, howl at the dusty piles of amazement that are still inside, just out of reach. But I wouldn’t recommend it, because they are ever so quick with a restraining order.

You’ve heard the old saw, “laughing on the outside, crying on the inside?” This is kind of like that, but no-one’s laughing, and his insides seem to be on the outside, so he’s kind of crying and laughing at the same time, only he’s screaming. Which is a response that I endorse. I’m not sure what he’s wearing on his head, though. Possibly a cheerful yellow squid. I don’t know.

Someone’s grandmother probably made this for her grandson or granddaughter, with her own, loving hands. And maybe the child said “thank you,” or maybe started to cry, until Mom made him or her say “thank you,” but in that terrified voice that says “please save me” in addition to whatever the words might actually express. And dad, dad said, “Yes. It is a good thing that she is in the home, and they lock the door and keep her inside when we leave. Worth…every…penny.”

Brought to you by the tragedy of Far Out, formerly of Manchacha and Lamar :(

I had previously thought that I’d seen every variation on the Thrift Shop Clown. Mutant ceramic clowns, bulbous blown-glass clowns, shell-and-macaroni clowns, acerebrated buffoons. This one was new.

Just to begin with, he’s a really nasty little creature. Check out those eyebrows. It’s like he thought adding a Hitler mustache over each eye would enhance his comedy appeal. This is of course a failed hope, no force on earth can enhumor a clown, but this one isn’t even trying. It looks like the last thing a child ever sees after learning how to turn a handle.

Hmm…in the interest of public safety, this one doesn’t actually have a turn handle. It’s probably for the best. I’m sure a lot of sudden infant heart attacks were prevented by that simple precaution.

Anyway, evil ceramic clown, blah blah blah, you’ve seen this one before. The artist’s real advance in coulrophobia induction is the brilliant “clown-slug” approach. This is a new one.

Ever wonder what you’d get if you added grease paint and ruffles to an uncooked, “feeds six to eight” German sausage? Wonder no more!

The pink box is way too innocent. It lures children into a false sense of security. They creep forward, expecting a prezzie, candy maybe, or even a puppy or an appropriate succedaneum–then, BAM, sausageclownslug. I know what I’m going to give my nephew once my sister’s speaking to me again.

Savers on North Lamar, Austin

Frankly, I think she’s got more important things to worry about than where she left her purse. Like that lamé dress. Seriously, that stuff went out in the late 80s.

I’m not sure how you’d actually wear that. It’s thicker than a layer of cake frosting. It probably creaks. It may actually be the only thing holding her up.

Just…very very slowly, okay? It’s been a hard day.

Ah, irony. It’s not so much “laughing outside, crying inside.” In fact, it might have actually been “crying outside, laughing inside.” But instead, it looks like he’s upset because the French revolution started going after mimes. Or like the absolutely creepiest ghost at Hogwarts. I’m glad the phantasmal gray gnome of Gryffindor isn’t judging him. He’s like, “oh, don’t worry about it. Just because you’re dead, and a clown, doesn’t mean your life’s over. It’s just beginning. Oh, wait, a CLOWN? That’s pretty sad…maybe you should go hang out with Moaning Myrtle downstairs. Crikey, a clown…”

Headless girl in gold, Goodwill on Metric and 83. “Dash” from goodwill on 2222. Unhappiest mime from Savers on Burnet and North Loop.

When you’re dealing with clowns, you have to give up on a lot of what you, as a sane, rational human, view as “normal.” “Don’t wear size 38L shoes when you’re sized for a size 10.5.” “Don’t soak your boss in seltzer water.” “Don’t put cream pies down your pants, in someone’s face, or, indeed, anywhere except a refrigerator, table, kitchen counter, or manufacturer’s suggested pie caddy.”

And “Don’t do that there.”

Though in point of fact I’m not entirely sure what he’s doing. It’s clearly biological. And he clearly derives no small amount of enjoyment from it.

Okay, so, I do know what he’s doing, I do. This is obviously a candle holder. Obviously. And he’s, just as obviously, warming up his clowny little backside. And yet, it’s hard not to imagine that he’s performing some sort of clown-science experiment, “Let’s see what color methane burns,” or some such. Because that’s how clowns do things, particularly how clowns do science. I’d be hard-pressed to think of any other clown experiments, except for testing the amount of carbon dioxide that could be dissolved in seltzer water under temperature and pressure extremes.

In fact, Clown College is actually combining these two bold experiments to create methane-based seltzer water, which wouldn’t, properly, be seltzer water, but something altogether less pleasant. Even with the high-level security clearance I get as a blogger, I haven’t been allowed to see the methane-pressurizing process, but I’ve been assured that it’s both very funny and a little bit embarrassing. More for me than the clowns, though, they don’t actually have that emotion.

Oh clowns. Going there, so we don’t have to.

Thrift Town on Manchacha and Stassney

Okay, technically this guy’s not a clown, he’s a hobo. But they fill the same basic ecological niche, as far as Aisle 14, “Miscellaneous,” goes. Clowns are really life’s worst-case scenarios, and hobos are their spiritual cousins in the thrift ecosystem. So. Leer with me now.

This is the guy that showed up at the picnic last year, nobody knew who he was but everybody thought he was Sally’s boyfriend, the one who managed to fit all the potato salad in his pocket. And it turned out he was Sally’s boyfriend. Sally likes herself some potato salad.

Sock puppet? Arcane gesture beckoning eldritch forces beyond our reckoning? You be the judge. I’m thinking, extraterrestrial life. And he’d STILL be a better catch than Sally’s last boyfriend.

Behold Him in His glory:

I think he ran out of cigars a few weeks ago and tried to smoke his own foot. What’s wrong with that appendage?

Back to the strange intersection of extraterrestrial life and clowns. It’s not so much that there’s something wrong here as that nothing, nothing at all, is right. But really, we could just stop at his strange torso. Most people I know of don’t have their hands grafted to their knees. It’s not often done, not in a sane universe. Sure, maybe on the Muppets, but is that a sane universe? No. Maybe he’s from an alternate earth, some variation of Terra-Prime where life evolved not from one-celled organisms, but from donuts and crullers. Massive pastryform creatures wobbling across the land, desperately trying to hold in their strawberry filling, hoping to be able to make it to the glazepool before they drew the attention of Kolachesaurus Rex.

Hobo Art from Goodwill on 2222, Long-Necked Glass Clown from Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha, Austin

So…it’s come to this. Tossed aside, locked behind glass, hair shaved off. We’ve all been there. This is rock bottom.

Actually, if you’re discarded, shaved, encased, and a clown, that’s just slightly worse.

I think this might be the most depressing creature I’ve ever encountered in a thrift store, she most have been pretty in her day. Probably tried out for a part in “Cats,” or its less successful (but more danceable) off-off-Broadway counterpart, “Mimes.” Her entire career brought to a tragic end by a three-year-old with a pair of scissors.

Kids today. No respect for maribou.

The shop actually gave her some token of respect, a mourning note–they put her on a black bed, picked a price tag that actually went with her costume and it is HARD to coordinate with silver lamé.  And yet it all just seems to illustrate life’s great punchline…you’re born, you live a good life, manage not to get broken, even get a couple of parts in an Italian opera, then bam, a pair of bright yellow plastic safety scissors with your name on it.  Or maybe “JOEY”‘s name on it, in red sharpie.

Schadenfreude pumpkin raises a delicate lip to savor the moment. Oh yes.

Which wrapped up day one of Thrift Tour of San Antonio. We had a delicious dinner with our Thrifting Buddies, Maus and Tenar, at nearby Bombay Hall. After a busy day of bopping from shop to shop, sitting down with three different curries was bliss, and their Kashmiri naan–grilled naan bread stuffed with sweet cherry pistachio paste–was a perfect capper to a great day.

From the Loop 410 Goodwill, San Antonio

I had this thought that just maybe kittens would be a good way to ease back into harmony and happiness after a week of clowns, but, no, the kittens in their own special way bring their own special nightmares. Particularly when they seem to have been inexpertly resurrected after an accident involving a cast-iron skillet, an air compressor, the La Brea Tar Pits, and maybe a flock of seagulls with dyspepsia.

So we’re going back to clowns.

…No, never mind. Clowns are not an improvement. At least, not that clown.

Back to kittens. Or at least ex-kittens.

When you were a kid, did your mom ever pop open those pre-made cans of cinnamon rolls? The kind that comes six to a tin, wrapped up in a coil of tinfoil and cardboard, the kind that unseals itself with a satisfying “pop” as the dough stretches and relaxes? The kind that comes with a gritty, sugary white pasty frosting? That’s really the important part.

One day in the midsummer, we accidentally left one of those sweet roll cans under the rear window, then went out for lunch. There was probably a “pop.” There was no shortage of icing. I think the dough was turning a little crisp in the sun. That’s what I’m flashing back to here.

Try not to make eye contact. It’ll follow you home, and leak on the carpet.

Clown from Savers South Lamar, cat from Savers North on Burnet, Austin. Thank you, Savers. I love you too, but maybe we should just be friends.

If somehow you haven’t quite had enough of International Clown Week (as expressed through the medium of bargain-bin brik-a-brak), do stop and visit Thrift Madness, where mental dedicated thrift gnomes have spent untold hours scrounging up an entire department of clowny badness. There’s some really “great” finds there!

If, on the other hand, you’ve had enough hilarity, we’ll wrap this up with, well, more clowns.

Imagine someone out there really needed a clown, but they only had ten pounds of pre-chewed gum, some tempera paint, and a cotton ball. The big flaw is, of course, “why did they need a clown?” But that’s why you have to use your imagination. So anyway, they fused the poor, misbegotten thing out of wads of gum, hastily shoved together into a somewhat anthropomorphic lump, and painted it with whatever thick, pasty pigment–let’s say, sparkly blue, and a nice thick pink base–would stick to wet chewing gum. Then, like the final drop of ink that brings a crane to life, they glued that cotton ball down. It’s not moving. I think it’s stuck on with some sort of tack.

Call it a clown, go home.

I like the black button nose. If it’s cold and moist, you know it’s healthy.

Sadly, all things–even International Clown Week–must come to an end. Here, they came to a very sudden end. The real tragedy is that–before the accident, or the spinning Indiana Jones and the Funhouse of Doom death trap, or possibly before his head turned into a huge bouquet of roses, with a merry popping sound and a sudden blast of cheap floral perfume–he had a winning hand. A straight flush, what are the odds?

Poor little guy. But if it’s any consolation, he died the way he lived–brightly colored, kind of sad, and we weren’t really sure if we should be laughing or not.

Next week, we return to your regularly scheduled monstrosities :)

Lump clown at Savers on South Lamar near 290, Headless the Clown from Salvation Army near 620, Austin

What? Another Christmas Clown? Oh, yes! Nothing goes with Christmas like clowns! Clowns and Christmas are like…spaetzle and Easter, or slide trombones and Arbor Day. Inseparable!

Have pity on this little guy. Girl. Ovoid. Life’s not been kind to it. His feet are little flat pancakey flippers, barely fit to keep it from falling forward onto its face (no doubt with a whimsical honking sound.) Let it wag its little pompom arms in tiny, futile circles, it’s still guaranteed a faceplant. (Honk!)

Still, it’s come to a sort of cheerful reconciliation. If I’m going to topple forward, let it be with a big, big smile. If I’m going to fall backward, let me swing back with a graceful arch, let tiny cotton puffs swat me in the face, I’ll still be smiling. Because basically my head is made out of styrofoam. I’m okay with pretty much anything.

Over the four or five years of Thrift Horror’s tragic existence, there’ve been two great constants. Clowns and shell art. Thank god, we can get both of these things over at once.

Yes! A grinning abomination of pipe cleaners, fluffballs, and good old American craftsmanship! Even more horrifying, I’ve seen more than one of these–this little critter’s popped up on the Thrift Horror livejournal community before. I can only assume that some magazine somewhere said “Here’s how you make a whimsical–” no, no, it was probably fanciful. “Here’s how you make a fanciful friend out of a little glue, a few shells, and a lot of love!”

Not quite enough love to shore up the meaty flap of the poor thing’s neck, I guess the pipe cleaners shifted during shipment. I don’t doubt for an instant that this was the best possible use for that particular clown head. After six long years of being sealed in plastic wrap, watching sadly as people bought kraftstix, bead looms, floss…finally, it was saved from the discount bin, and shoved onto a conch. That’s crafts for you. Crafts can be harsh.

Bobbo the Christmas Clown from Texas Thrift on I35 near 51st, Shell Clown from Salvation Army near 620 and 183, Austin.