Warning: Content may offend. The following post may not be your cup of tea. If your sense of humour hasn't lurched over to the dark side yet, you may want to nudge the back button. Some tumour humour is about to follow.
Please note that I would only crack jokes about my own tumour, not anybody elses. I grew it all by myself, so I therefore consider it fair game. Plus I write comedy. Dark comedy, in more recent times... How could I not go there...especially given the circumstances... I'll poke the damn thing with a stick, if I want to...metaphorically, at least...
Are you still reading this...? Then don't say I didn't warn you...
I got a copy of my scan recently, so have been gazing in wonder, and confusion, at my insides. And in horror. There is a creepy clown face in my tumour. I'm not sure how I feel about this, other than - WTF???????????
Not a clown, or a tumour, but if the images google has shown me of the latter are anything to go by, there could be some similarities...
Since making this ominous discovery, all sorts of pertinent questions have been competing for my attention.
Is it just me...or is this a common phenomenon? Do a statistically significant number of tumours also harbour creepy clowns? Are the walls of the staff rooms of radiologists all over the world covered in the best of the best creepy clown images?
What about the people these tumours with not-so-funny faces are growing inside of? Do they swap stories, and photos, with other patients in private chat rooms? Or is it one of those uncomfortable facts of life that no one talks about? So much so, that oncologists never even tell their patients? You know, cos they don't want them to worry...
No one told me... I only know I have "clown issues", because I looked... I haven't inspected every image yet either, there's rather a lot of them, so there might be rather a lot of clowns...
I could really do with some face recognition software, so I can ascertain if it's just one buffoon pulling different faces, (I don't think it's Krusty), or a party of clowns taking turns, posing for the camera....
I have been known to refer to this mass that I have amassed as my RCE, or Rogue Cell Ensemble, which sounds slightly less scary than tumour, in my opinion, at least, but now I'm wondering if it's actually a Rogue Clown Ensemble...eek...
Perhaps next time I see the specialist I will ask if exorcism may be a more prudent, less invasive treatment than scalpel action. If he still recommends the big chop, I will have to ask some questionable questions.
How will he stop the creepy clown/clowns from jumping ship and starting a fresh circus act in an adjacent organ?
Will the theatre team swap their scrubs for clown outfits? Or will they wear costumes that represent the clowns' natural enemy? Do clowns have enemies...?
More importantly, if I opted for the other option, how does one exorcise a clown? Snap his braces, pull his hair...send him to the naughty chair?
Would the person performing the exorcism skip around me, in oversized shoes, blowing one of those roll out party whistles, while wearing a paper hat? Maybe while also popping some balloons, shaking a tambourine, and chanting, Happy Turfday to you? Turf that clown right out of town...
Or would they try and tickle the joker out with laughing gas? Laugh that clown right out of town... Or perhaps tie IT to some helium balloons...float that clown right out of town...
I know...they could circle me on a unicycle while juggling bottles of holy water... although maybe throwing garlic wreaths up into the air would be safer...yeah...that might work...this tumour is technically vampirish, a blood-sucking beast trying to drain the life out of me...
Is this a built-in drain, or are we staring into the abyss...?
I wonder what clown features name is...probably something nauseatingly syrupy and playful...something like... Candyfloss...Candyfloss...Candy--
Let's not go there...
I probably shouldn't give him a name, should I...or give him oxygen...not sure how to avoid that at the mo though...tricky...but then, I think the proof of identity/extracting his real name thing might be the responsibility of Team Exorcism ...? Or maybe that's only how it works in the movies...
I didn't used to suffer from coulrophobia--the official term for a fear of clowns. I have even dressed as a clown in my youth. Tis hard to not be nervous about this one though.
Another uncomfortable question...what is he doing when not posing for photo shoots...? Hopefully not playing teacher ...nurturing those little clones at an exclusive clown school...or making balloon cthulhu's...wait...maybe the exorcism crew might make the balloon cthulhu's...maybe that would work...chase the evil clown out with an eviler entity...
Is it just me, or does this beached sea monster have a bit of a cthulhu vibe going on...?
According to wiki, exorcists can cast out a demon by commanding it to depart in the name of a higher power, so who is above a clown...guess that would be the ringmaster...
Although I'm thinking it would make more sense if the exorcist was dressed like a ringmaster, complete with handlebar moustache, top hat and tails, and he would be drawing the clown out further with every crack of his whip, before ceremoniously feeding the f**ker to the lions...hear Aslan ROAR...
Am I giving this too much thought? I always have had a vivid imagination. Not vivid enough to imagine that I would see a creepy clown face in my tumour in the first place though, just so you know.
Annoyingly, I can hear Ms Streisand's song playing on repeat inside my head...Send in the Clowns...how about, Send out the Clowns...out damn clowns, out...maybe the surgical team would be humming that tune too....and here's a thought...they could call the procedure Operation Clown...that would make an eye-catching title for a journal publication, wouldn't it...or Operation Circus...that's another contender...
The swirly bit in this picture reminds me of The Scream, by Edvard Munch, before the screamer covered their ears. Could be just another weird sea beastie with limpet-like tendencies, who had the misfortune to hitch-hike its way to a stranding, though. Hard to be sure about these things...
Okay...so that's how my thought processes proceeded initially...then I got suspicious... What if the clown is exogenous? What if the image has been photoshopped? It might be a stock photo...clip art...inserted by a radiologist with a twisted sense of humour...
Maybe it's my punishment for having the audacity to request my medical records... their way of jumping onboard the creepy clown phenomenon, making sure they get the last laugh...is that the sound of a radiologist sniggering, I can hear???? Maybe they have a google alert set up for, "Help! There's a clown in my tumour!"
Curiously enough, I found another alarming image on a different scan which may support this theory...the tumour looks like a human head...gulp...and there's still yet another scan I haven't...scanned...yet...who knows what might be lurking in that one...probably best not to give it too much thought...especially in the wee small hours when I should be sleeping...
It could be a sideshow slideshow in there...Chucky might be running amuck in my innards as well...egged on by a posse of blood thirsty deviant dolls...who are in cahoots with a ventriloquist's dummy... eek...those things really creep me out...I see a horror movie script writing itself...Fearground Attraction...
As Bart said, "Can't sleep, clown will eat me..." I hear ya little 2d dude, I hear ya...
If it is a radiological prank, it's definitely sick joke territory. Just saying...
Far more likely, of course, that it's just a Rogue Pixel Ensemble, but imagine how disturbing it would be for someone who did believe in demons?
Nice flippers, Cthulhu-ish creature.
And yes, before you say it, I do know that the tendency we humans have of seeing faces in everything from clouds to toast is called Pareidolia. Wikipedia tells me that Pareidolia is actually used as an educational tool in radiology. Check this out;
"When viewing spinal radiographs, normal bony anatomic structures resemble the face of an owl. (The spinal pedicles resemble an owl's eyes and the spinous process resembles an owl's beak.) But when cancer erodes the bony spinal pedicle, the radiographic appearance changes such that now that eye of the owl seems missing or closed, which is called the "winking owl sign".
And part of the spine that looks like a Scotty dog, sometimes wears a collar, and then there's the bony bit that looks like Baby Yoda. Who would've thought. No mention of clowns though. But then tumours aren't a normal part of human anatomy, are they...
Pareidolia
Google also showed me a journal publication about a pituitary tumour that looked like Big Bird from Sesame Street.
And then there's the geode that looks like the Cookie Monster;
livescience.com
Where there any clowns in Sesame Street? My memory of the characters is a little sketchy...it's been a while...I think I would rather my tumour looked like Mr Snuffleupagus than this bozo though, or maybe even The Count...as long as he wasn't in there...you know...counting, "One tumour...two tumours...three--" Would make the one-wheeled cycle riding, bottled water juggling demon chaser a no brainer though, wouldn't it.
This article mentions an ultrasound that revealed a face in a man's testicle. Yikes;
BBC: Why do we see faces in objects?
This bit is fascinating;
"In the 1950s, the Bank of Canada had to withdraw a series of banknotes because a grinning devil leapt from the random curls of the Queen’s hair."
Good grief.
And if you're trying to think of a way to increase the amount of hours you spend looking at random sh*t on the internet, try googling, #iseefaces. I suggest you start here;
Twitter--Dr Beth Nichols
A universe in a blade of grass...
Some more noteworthy sites;
50-faces-in-everyday-places
And this National Geographic blog has a cliff that looks like one of Tolkien’s dwarves. Nice;
Word of the week--pareidolia
And more reddit;
Pareidolia
But you don't even need to leave this blog to indulge in some face spotting.
If you scroll back up to the first photo of cthulhu features, you might see an old man wearing one of those slouchy, windsockish style hats in the top left-hand side of the image. He has a rather long beard with a bird's nest in it, one of those fully enclosed nests with a small birdie sized entrance. How cute is that.
Then, if you turn the image on it's side, there's a beastie with a trunk! More than one actually, it's a very busy photo. Lots to see, if you know where to look...
RIP, ocean entity. I may have to honor you with a Hi-ho Holly-o Sea Shanty. Never actually written one before, but if I can write shit poetry, I think it's not too much of a stretch to hope I can write a not-as-shitty sea ditty...(try saying that ten times in a row)...watch this space...or perhaps...stay tuned!
Returning to the exogenous vs endogenous issue, I realise that by publicly stating that I have an inner clown--a sinister one--that I am playing right into the Biopsychosocial (BPS) crowd's hands...that whole cancer personality industry that makes my blood boil...
I can see the elaborate hypotheses reproducing themselves, clumping together, forming a malignant mass already; suspected childhood trauma...must have been laughed at as a child...probably at other children's birthday parties...resulting in a repressed fear of fun...or maybe she was teased...her nose is kinda red...all of this negativity manifesting as...drum roll...The Cancer Clown!
Could explain my aversion to polkadots, I guess... Actually, at the tender age of five, while walking home from school, some older kids did call me short stuff and ask if I got shrunk in the washing machine...maybe that was the inciting incident...their cruel laughter might be what my cells remember...
No doubt the BPS brigade would recommend some positive affirmations that I could tape to my mirror, to help me learn to embrace my inner clown...perhaps something like, "Laughter is the best medicine..."
They might suggest I change my theme song to, Funny face, I Love You... They would probably also propose laughter therapy to help me heal...so I can...you know...turn that clown frown upside down... Or tell me to stand on a piece of paper and yell stop!...to stop "doing" my tumour. Yeah...that's bound to work...now where did I put that bucket...
Let's pause for a moment to soothe ourselves with a picture of a winking tree;
At least I hope this tree is winking, and hasn't had his eye pecked out by a...a...a wood pecking bird...it's not like the poor tree could run, even if there was still time, to escape a calculated attack by a vindictive avian assailant...how cruel...the tree is just a sitting duck...for a birdie to pluck...out more than just bark...gee, this poem is dark...
Maybe the tree was about to open its mouth to plead for help, and the thoughtless camerawoman just misinterpreted that chance to listen to the plight of a well and truly rooted vulnerable target, as a mere photo opportunity...I hear ya, not-so-little 3d tree, I hear ya...admittedly belatedly...sorry about that...
But then again, maybe the tree just has a bit of dirt in its eye...I can see how that would be a plausible environmental hazard...but wait...maybe the tree only ever had a single eye...like a Cyclops...but not really like one at all...or perhaps it takes time for a tree to grow a second eye...they do tend to function on a slower schedule compared to us, don't they...if only I could do that time lapse photography thing to spy on its eye... gosh...so many possibilities...
Now...where were we...?
I bet I know what you are thinking...what was I thinking posting this outrageous anecdote without providing you, dear reader, with photographic evidence...yes, well, sorry about that, I realise how annoying it must be, it's just that I had what I thought was a cunning plan, and I'm still in the denial stage, hoping that my plan might magically come to fruition.
I was initially thinking of posting the photo on Reddit's r/creepy, purely for the amusement of others, but then I read an article in the dailymail about a baby ultrasound image that looked like a demon, and I wondered if I could sell my clown...for enough balloons to fly me over the ocean to a country where I could have some fancy pancy treatment that I can't get here in little ole NZ...
Deluded, I know...
But I can't let go...
Of those balloons that will fly...
My tumour and I...
And the clown that resides...
In my dodgy insides...
Across the big blue sea...
To another country...
Where I can get medication...
To blast this abomination...
As one of my favourite actors, Tim Roth, so eloquently put it;
"Yeah, well, good luck with that." --Jack, Tin Star
If my appalling attempt at poetry made you cringe, then rest assured you are not alone...if my circumstances were different, I would probably have the self respect to delete it, but sharing one's body with a rogue tumour kinda changes your perspective on what's important...ya know...
Anyway, I feel the need to acknowledge how lucky I am to be living in a country where Covid isn't rampant yet, because I'm pretty sure I'd be down under by now if things were different...it's so sad to see what is happening around the world...my condolences to all those who are suffering because of the pandemic...
I may update this post with a photo at a later stage, when I come to my senses, but for now I just need to get this clown off my chest... I have kindly uploaded a picky of a cloud demon as a substitute for the time being...enjoy...
My, what a big nose you have, sky overlord.
If you have the stomach for it, here's another poem, just for fun;
In my innards there's a clown
His smile makes me frown
He's living in my tumour
Tis hard to find the humour
No cause for celebration
I need some clown chelation
The jester needs to repent
and get the F out of my tent
For my body to ever mend
His party needs to end
This Bozo has to go
Please cancel his sh*t show
A permanent lockdown
Curtains for the clown
Can someone please burst his bubble
If it isn't too much trouble
Without spreading his creepy face
All over the god damn place
Don't want this clown to clone
Himself in another zone
If he finds a way to spawn
A circus will be born
Please form a tight bunch
And deck Mr Punch
Out damn clown, out
You rainbow-haired lout!
Wait! Lightbulb moment! Maybe that's the answer! Bad poetry! Delivered by...drum roll...Vogons! But of course. I reckon a few verses from them would send the clown packing...better dust off my Hitchhiker's Guide, and get my trusty towel ready...if only...
Yeah, I know, I should probably quit clowning around, but I can't run away from this, so I thought I'd pun away instead...
If you know anyone who wants to buy an original clown portrait, (not autographed though, sorry, at least...I don't think it is...hmmmm...I may have to zoom in and report back...), please comment below. Haven't set a reserve yet, but all offers considered. Bidding wars also welcomed.
And feel free to comment if there are any punfare opportunities I have missed. Bound to be a few. Just an amateur comedian, ya know. Only ever likely to be remembered posthumorously, if at all...or maybe posttumourously...ha...that possibly only works as a private joke...but anyway, put your best pun forward. I dare ya.
And if, heaven forbid, you have found a clown in your innards too, I'd love to hear from you! And if there are any radiologists out there with an inside scoop...
May take me a while to respond, sorry, because I'm...you know...up to my neck in tumour trouble, hopefully just metaphorically...
Looks like you picked a fight with the wrong cloud, Mr Seagull. I'd fly while there's still time if I were you.
On another curious note, I only just saw It...the movie...interesting... As much as I would like to avoid the sewerage system, this clown is pretty close to my own private sewerage system...can't really steer clear of that one...what do I do about that, tricky...
I hope that malevolent cloud up above didn't vaporise that poor seagull...if so, he looks happy though...free as a bird...there is that...
If only my tumour looked more like a tuber than a clown...I think that would be less traumatic...but potatoes are my favourite food, so maybe not...
I have spent some time pondering a one liner that could best summarise what the future has in store for me. Easier than I would prefer...if my RCE is cancer, a number of phrases spring to mind...
Headed for the big chop.
The screen before game over.
I can't stop there though, it's too much fun...really quite addictive...plus I am a tautologist by trade...(and did I mention my, I Might Have Cancer Card?), and basically, I just can't help myself... oh look...there's another one;
I just can't help myself.
...so I will still do my own thing...oh look...there's another;
Still doing my own thing.
And let's not stop there;
Hoping there is an afterlife.
Hoping the afterlife isn't Hell.
Putting the grin in grim.
Some insect inspired responses, because bugs are beautiful and it would be a sin for me to not mention them in a post;
Bug obsessed til I croak.
Waiting to meet the worms.
Hoping the afterlife has insects. (If not, starting a petition.)
And;
Googling "DIY mushroom burial suit."
Because I don't think these clever creations are available in this neck of the woods yet. Sigh.
Some musically minded answers;
Refusing to Fear the Reaper.
Deciding what to throw away.
Accepting I can never leave.
And because this classic is another one of my theme songs;
On the road to Nowhere.
And subsequently;
Contemplating the meaning of Nowhere.
But if by some fluke there is an afterlife, then I guess I'd be;
On the road to Somewhere.
And subsequently;
Contemplating the meaning of Somewhere.
But because I'm not in a hurry to get Nowhere, or Somewhere anytime soon;
Hoping the road is long.
Provided, of course that it's not long and torturous, quality of life is key, imo. And because I'm not done yet;
Rogue cell ensemble goes rogue.
Down under in Down Under.
Scanning the sky for Vogons.
And;
Wondering, what would Gandalf do...?
Wondering how to summon Gandalf...
Wishing I lived in Hobbiton.
And to give this post a warm fuzzy full circle feel;
Trying to unjoin the circus.
Or;
Running away from the circus. (Not sure which of those I like best but my inner tautologist insisted I include both so you can decide.)
Not getting the last laugh.
Couldn't sleep, clown ate me.
One tumour...two tumours...three--
But don't hit the back button just yet...saving the best for last, as you do;
Taken down by a clown...
