Good evening, denizens of the asylum. The night slowly creeps upon the day in its eternal hunt, the lengthening shadows reaching out to ensnare all in their dark embrace. So comes to us another Friday night, and so it is again time for By an Idiot. I am your idiot, Mr. Clown.
Perhaps you have been stalked, felt as though someone was sneaking behind you. Here in this asylum you may have stopped to glance over your shoulder, but there was no one to see, no one but your fellow inmates, a herd of them in their soft white linen. Yes, we have all in our own way felt someone behind us, his eye gazing from some hidden corner, or out from some disguise.
In these halls stalks a hunter, himself unable to shake off the habit of his wanton youth. Who is this man, you may wonder, but it’s little good to tell you. He may sometimes appear a patient here, or perhaps dresses as a nurse; by happenchance I once perceived him so cleverly integrated within the ground’s bushes that the husbandman clipped off some of his costume. He is invisible, or as near to it as man can become. And he is on the hunt.
I chanced one time, spotting him behind the lunch counter offering a spoon of beans, to ask him of himself. He gave me no answer then, but slopped the dreadful legumes onto my plate. Later though, coming to my dorm with the evening’s medication, within the privacy of that dwelling, he expounded upon his history, and his reason for coming here.
He was, you see, a great hunter, and before rounding the sun a score had the heads of lions and tigers, rhinos and elephants upon his wall, a dread grizzly stuffed in the corner, and even in his mania harpooned a whale, though such a memento as he’d gathered from his other victims was in that case impractical. He did keep the harpoon upon his wall.
Altogether, in his field he had every success, and it was rounding thirty that he started to seek a greater challenge. He would need to hunt something fit for his skill, something presenting actual threat. What better animal, what more dangerous creature could it be? He had wrestled boas stretching the length of twelve men, slew a pack of wolves with a knife, and to top off the grizzly, wandered the icy straits where the more terrible polar bear ‘til then resided. Only one being could succeed all these, just one challenge left for our hunter, man.
Here the danger was the greatest, the highest risk, and it was only for him to choose his target. He settled on a friend of his, a fellow hunter, and devised the means of the contest. Inviting this prey into his home, he locked the doors, bared the windows, and led a merry chase. Everything went splendidly, the only hiccup being when the taxidermist called the police.
And so I bid you goodnight. This has been, Mr. Clown.