A Reuter’s article is making its rounds on Flavio Falcone, or “The Clown” as he’s known in São Paulo’s poverty stricken area dubbed “Crack Land”. There’s a lot of places that do a lot of crack, so to be known as THE Crack Land has to be an impressive amount of crack.
Flavio is doing amazing work out in Brazil. He uses his rap culture clown to reach out to the homeless and break down any mental barriers they may have put up. The Clown has taken on a Robinhood sort of legacy. Finding housing, food, shelter, and mental health support for those more often overlooked by the Brazilian government. I applaud Flavio’s work and commitment to his people. With that being said, I have no fucking clue how this works.
If you’ve worked in a bar, you know how funny drunk people can be. Unless you’ve ever worked in a field that deals with crack heads, you have no idea how funny they can be. Crack heads are like really big toddlers that I seriously believe can sometimes conjure up legitimate magic.
Dealing with a crack addicted person you need to begin with as basic as conversation can possibly be to see how far gone they are. Literally the leading questions are do you know what year it is or do you know who the president is. In my experience they get it wrong about 40% of the time, just stare at you 50% of the time, and the last 10% they knock the world’s easiest questionnaire out of the park. Then they think you owe them something if they get it right, like they’re on a game show or something.
Which is why for the life of me I can’t understand how the clown bit works. I’m glad it does, but don’t get it. The crackheads I know would shit their pants if they were high and then WHAM fucking clown in your face. Sober people are afraid of clowns, I can’t imagine what a clown looks like to someone who’s strung out.
One time I had this dude, he was out it, wouldn’t look me in the eyes as I tried talking to him. He was absolutely terrified of the light bulb in the lamp in the corner of the room. Couldn’t get him to cooperate. He just kept pointing at the light bulb and making little yelps. He’d close his eyes real tight and then open them hoping this light bulb would be gone, and then whine when he realized it hadn’t gone anywhere in the seven seconds he had his eyes shut. I tapped on the bulb and explained to him that it wasn’t scary. Which made him gasp and reach for the piping hot bulb like he was going to squeeze it. Afraid he was going to burn his hand off, I ripped the lamp out of the wall and put it in the other room. That was a lightbulb. Now imagine a damn clown routine.
Does Flavio have a routine? Fuck that. Fuck that sober? I need to know what it is. Does a rapping clown have bells and whistles? Does he have a squirting flower and a tiny car? Does he fall a lot and have a scary laugh? Who is this Crack Clown and what is his secret?
You know what, don’t tell me. Some things are better left unexplained. Congratulations to Mr. Falcone for getting the rightful international recognition that he deserves. Keep fighting the good fight, Mr. Crack Clown.
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