Spindle the Clown was really old, so he went to Miami for rest but drank more vodka than he could hold and collapsed with a pain in his chest.
He died that night in his hotel suit but not before fouling his shorts and hurling his lunch from his chest to his feet in retching, heaving, snorts.
Nobody knew he was there, by chance, having very few friends, to be sure, and his room was paid for the month in advance with “DO NOT DISTURB!” on the door.
So his body sat in the heat to bloat and his organs turned to soup and flies laid eggs in his nose and throat and beetles infested his poop.
Rats and roaches came up through the shower, the odors were pungent and fresh and feasted on Spindle for 93 hours, stripping his bones of flesh.
When housekeeping finally entered the room, hardly a crumb remained. Spindle the Clown was completely gone, except for his creepy brain.
***We met Spindle the Clown a few years ago while researching death rituals among the Clown species. We spent a week documenting his demise – only to witness him defy death in the end. Sadly, his brain grew up to be a corporate banker…..very tragic. John insisted that we use this image for our first post (back in Oct., 2015) for some strange symbolism that only idiotic artists understand. Spindle was featured in our first book, “Blue-ish Freaks” which you can follow the links to find and buy. -Marsha
Tommy