You continue through to walk through Pleasure Island. Or rather you waddle; the new size of your feet make your legs move in an exagerrated and akward manner. And you have a subconsciouse compulsion to exagerrate your other movements almost like a cartoon character's-or a clown's.
You don't mind, however, as Pleasure Island's other patrons stop and stare at you; you now like attention although you never did before. You even sometimes grab objects and juggle them-then let them fall on your head. You also take off you hat and do funny tricks with it. The sound of your spectators' laughter fills you with joy; it's almost as good as sex.
You have just finished entertaining your latest audience and honk your nose goodbye when you notice a large group of other clowns heading into a building. A neon light say over the building say's 'Bad Boffo's.'
You decide to go in; you decide you want to meet other clowns and make some new friends. As you enter, you are struck by what you see.
It's a bar. And unlike any other bar you've ever been in, the staff and patrons are all clowns like you. Most are dressed in a fashion similar to yourself but the bartender and the waiters are all wearing tight tie-died t-shirts and knee-high shorts. Music of some kind is playing in the background. You don't know what kind it is-it sounds like kind of like strange techno-polka-and you are sure that one of the instruments being played is a circus calliope.
You waddle to a barstool and order a beer. You look at the bar counter and notice the snacks aren't pretzals, chips, or peanuts-they're gumdrops and jellybeans.
The bartender, a young looking hobo, gives you your beer. You take a long pull. It tastes all right, but there's something 'different' about this beer; you're just not sure what. You drink the rest and order another. The bartender takes your mug-then guffaws. You stare in puzzlement, and the others at the bar counter are also laughing. You look at the small mirror behind the counter and laugh yourself; your big red clown nose is covered with beer foam! You look so silly.
You wipe the foam off with a napkin and accept your next beer-this time with a straw.
You swivel in your stool and look around. And notice a few things.
All the bars patrons are male. There is not a single female clown in sight.
Many of the clowns are talking or touching each other in very intimate ways. A few pair up and dance with each other in a section that's clear of tables.
You aren't just in a clown bar. You're in a GAY clown bar.