Send in the clowns, the high dollar clowns, send in the multimillion dollar banking clowns. We don’t deal well with reality, so we jump at the chance to pay for distraction. Beautiful clowns with their cosmetic faces, heavenly bodies and angelic voices plastered on the sliver screen, crammed into our Ipods, or cast upon the stages where we pay to watch them dance for us. Athletic clowns with Adonis bodies that bound across the court or field, worshipped by the young and old alike while payed a king’s ransom to play a child’s game. How we feel like kings and queens when we grovel at the feet of our godly jesters, who live more luxurious lives than the soldiers, the teachers, the butchers, the bakers and the candlestick makers. Is reality so horrific that it’s come to this? The false idols of today, those models of success our children hold in such high esteem are none other than those paid handsomely to distract them from that which is real? Those who set the curve of the beauty standard with lives under knives and photoshop touchups on the magazine covers? Is reality so horrendous that we send in the clowns every day just to pull us away and pretend it’s all a dream? Just to buy us some time between birth and death when we don’t have to think about the hell that exists beyond the stages and arenas we’ve created for ourselves? I’m just as guilty, my friends. I, too, send in the clowns. But they keep me sane, they’re easy on the eyes and soft on the brain. So I’m left here hoping every day that the wealthy world-owners, in some small way, have the best interests of the people in mind. But do we peasants deserve that when we keep ourselves blind? This self-inflicted subterfuge wherein we take the blue pill, close our eyes, and wish the world away?