FATPACK 2000 TOUR Seaside Heights, NJ X.Ray Cried the Day the Clowns Came to Town, 'Cause He Didn't Like Parades Just Passing Him By

I rolled into the sleepy town of Seaside Heights approximately 10 AM, on a cool, sunny late summer day with every intention of entertaining. This was to be my day. The day that X.Ray Burns would finally don the greasepaint and proclaim his status as an official wicked clown. Its a lifestyle baby, (with or without the greasepaint), and it was time for me to cast off my societal straight jacket and walk amongst the people as the comedic Monster I have become. I rolled in large, riding a trunk full of Weisse beer and a car full of fine bitches.      After some annoying glitches with the ever-troublesome broadcast technology, I retired to the cheap motel room of one Mr. Glen Jones, the Fabulous Superstar of Rock 'n' Roll, to don the greasepaint for the first time. Quivering, whining and uncertain of my destiny, I reluctantly submitted to the cosmetic ministrations of a lovely woman who seemed to be well versed in handling madmen. Another buxom young lass hovered over me, doing quality control and making sure my disfiguring moles and carbuncles were adequately covered by the clown makeup.      After some libation, I began to relax. When the uncomfortable process of make-up application was finally complete, I donned my fantastic Clockwork Orange T-Shirt, comical, ill-fitting, bright orange MC Hammer pants, steel toe fan crusher boots and my black and orange feather boa. Stepping to the mirror, (which merely casts back a reflection of what I let myself become), I was all at once startled and becalmed. I was one of them. Finally, my destiny was upon me, so I had another drink.      Five minutes to show time baby, Jones made the stroll to the venue himself, walking proud and erect with a smoke in his maw and Rock 'n' Roll in his pocket. I gathered my meager belongings and began the march to the venue with visions of Emmett Kelly kicking Caesar Romero in the nuts bouncing around my skull. Suddenly, from the swimming pool below, a young girl shouted "Look Daddy, look at the Clown". At that moment, almost like I was shot in the forehead with a diamond bullet, I realized the true role of the Clown. It's all about the kids. It's all about Mad Clown Love. It's about Southwest voodoo. I sucked down another Weisse beer.      By the time I stumbled into the venue, I had horrified, beguiled and even amused many of the boardwalk denizens enjoying their benign Sunday morning. Upon arrival, Mr. Glen Jones had begun to weave his spellbinding musical tempest, drawing a large crowd of alcoholics and family folk who greeted me with reserve. Had X.Ray lost his mind? Did he sell his soul to the Carnival? Is that him behind the Greasepaint or a shoddy, second rate imposter? I am the Walrus, motherfucker. Coo Coo Ka Choo.       Emboldened by the Weisse beer and my new found clown bravado, I jumped into the show with both steel toe clad feet. Not caring that my Mother-in-Law and other significant relations were aghast witnesses to the mayhem which ensues any time The New and Untouchable Glen Jones Radio Programme featuring X.Ray Burns is in the house. Then, in the distance, I heard the siren song of the clown calliope and knew they were approaching. Not just any everyday clown procession, but the Annual Seaside Heights Clown Parade. My destiny approached. I was prepared. I had another Weisse beer.       Marching straight up to the center of the Parade, I greeted my joy-bringing comedic comrades with open arms. I attempted to redirect the parade into the Beachcomber, (our venue), so we could all bask in the blend of IBJ and Clown love. The first clown car actually attempted a hard left, but realized I was misguiding them, after all I was not their kind of clown. Bad vibes, man. They must have been pouring out of me. Realizing my poorly thought out plan to redirect the clown parade had failed; I immediately broke into the Internationally recognized, universal dance of Clown Love. Writhing and spewing smoke and beer, I was certain I would be accepted in the ranks of my fellow clowns. I was wrong.       Some say I did a cartwheel and crushed a young woman's leg. Others say I was kissing enormous, androgynous clowns on the lips. Many of the Clowns in the parade appeared to be retarded or at least born again Christians, who warned me about the evils of Weisse beer and the devil weed Tobacco. These were not real clowns. They knew it was all about the children, but I suspect that their perspective involved luring them back to their seedy hotel room or small, urine-smelling Big Tops for a night of flash photography. I knew then I was the real clown. They were the fake-ass, greasepaint covered pretenders who drink so much they can't even pin their "Jesus Loves Clowns" buttons on straight.       I seek to entertain. If I ever earn the title of bonafide Clown, my work here will soon be over. I will go to live on my own mansion on the Carnival grounds. There will be no worry of paying for it, it's already taken care of. Some say I ruined the 2000 Seaside Heights Clown Parade, I say I WAS the parade, baby. The Original Southwest Mack Daddy Juggalo. As I gazed on the Clowns on parade, I realized they missed the whole point. It's about MAD CLOWN LOVE, baby. A tear came to my eye as I regarded them with a curious mix of envy and disdain. X.Ray cried the day the Clowns came to town, 'cause he didn't like Parades just passing him by.     X.Ray Burns

The Glen Jones Radio Programme featuring X.Ray Burns is now being archived by WFMU.
CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS, BABY!!!