Clown with a terrible name
Señor Terrible
I’m not usually into the whole evil clown kick. I really prefer werewolves.
But there’s a sort-of Captain Spalding vibe going on with this guy, so I figured I’d just let it develop. Brr, he gives me the creeps.
There’s a bait store on the edge of some small dusty town where this guy breeds crickets in a back room and watches Mexican wrestling on a beat up old black and white TV. The store has been closed for years; crates and shelves covered in mold, insects crawling on every inch of the counters, floors, and walls.
And there he sits at his sagging card table next to the back door. A single florescent light shines coldly above his sweating head. He mutters to himself and chuckles whenever a bug comes close enough for him to smash, sometimes eat. An ash tray overflows onto the floor where the cracked linoleum is dyed a creamy yellow from years of squashed cockroaches.
Señor Terrible. Completely crazy.