“I still think it's ironic.” Mike said as he unlocked the kitchen door. “In the movies, the creepy clowns are always the murderers, not the... murderees.” He nodded in satisfaction as he turned to help his brother with the body.
Chet was staring at him, unmoving. “You mean victims. Clowns aren't usually victims.” He shook his head and shifted to get a better grip on Bozo. “Murderees,” he muttered, glaring at Mike and wondering how much longer he would be able to put up with his brother's idiocy.
Mike lifted the clown's legs and backed into the house, with Chet taking the majority of the weight from Daffy's rather large torso in the process. As they crossed from the kitchen into the living room, Chet tripped on their Grandmother's old rug and fell to one knee, dropping the body.
“C'mon, quit clowning around,” said Mike. “I'm hungry, and I wanna get this over with.”
Chet looked up at Mike's face and tried to decide whether to laugh or to scream. Before he could make up his mind, his little brother dropped the clown's feet. “Why don't we just roll him from here?” Mike said, “The bathroom's not that far.” Dusting off his knees, Chet nodded his agreement.
“Let's just get what we need for now, and be quick about it. I'm starving.” Chet bent down to start rolling Chuckles to the bathroom. “What part do you want?,” he asked, looking over at Mike.
“Well, I'm normally a dark meat guy, so that piece'll be good for me.”
“So his thigh then?,” Chet grunted as the pie-flinger began to move.
Mike paused in his pushing. “No, maybe not. That just doesn't sound right to me, eating some guy's thigh.” He began to kick at the big red shoes pensively. “How 'bout his calves instead? I'd feel a lot better about eatin' a calf, wouldn't you?”
“Why not?,” said Chet, “I like veal.” Chet chuckled to himself and gave a final heave as the clown flopped onto the bathroom tile.
As usual, Mike managed to find a way to disappear until most of the work was done, leaving Chet to spend a messy half hour grumbling about all the times he had to pick up his brother's slack. The sizzling noise of meat hitting a hot pan eventually drew Mike out from his unknown hiding place.
“Why don't you set the table?” Chet said to his brother as he removed the first steak and threw the second in the pan.
Mike began to pull dishes out and place them haphazardly on the table. Good enough, Chet thought to himself. “Don't forget the napkins.”
As they sat down to eat, Mike looked over at his brother. “So tell me one more time what this guy did to you again?” “This is the last time, I swear!”, he added as his brother shot him an exasperated look and threw his fork down onto his plate.
“He was taking all the birthday party bookings, and I'm getting sick and tired of having to clean up after drunk college kids every damn night. It's disgusting and I'm done with it. Now I'll get more bookings, and more money, and I can quit busing at the club to spend more time working on my magic. 'The Great Gambini' will rise like a phoenix from the ashes of this seltzer-sprayer.” Chet stopped ranting long enough to take a few deep calming breaths, and to stab at his charred steak contemptuously with his knife. “Anyway, this guy didn't really have much going for him. He was a birthday clown for chrissakes!”
“I dunno, I he must have been pretty good at least.”, said Mike, chewing loudly and causing little pieces of Boffo to go flying across the table. He swallowed and looked down at his plate, then up at his brother. “Don't you think this tastes a little funny?”
Chet dropped his remaining silverware and screamed at the ceiling in frustration. As Mike sat across the table snickering quietly to himself, he wondered if he could make 'The Great Gambini' mad enough to pull his hare out.