FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Protest of the Hartford Marathon
An Interview with The Bushnell Park Clown
Hartford, Conn. | October 10, 2025 – According to modern folklore, the Bushnell Park Clown refuses to speak, preferring instead to sit his lazy ass on a bench all weekend smoking as an expression of… what exactly? Tonight, this reporter set out to uncover the truth about just what his purpose is and why he has decided to bring his filthy act to the Hartford Marathon tomorrow. That’s right, Hartford, what follows is an exclusive interview with the Bushnell Park Clown. See you at the race!
t.r.: So, how does it feel to be humiliated once again?
T.B.P.C.: Not much different than any of the other times we’ve done this.
t.r.: Liar! We’ve never done this before.
T.B.P.C.: It’s not that much different. And I’m telling you already, nobody gives a fuck.
t.r.: I give a fuck, Jim Flannery, okay? So, let’s get on with it.
T.B.P.C.: Okay, well, I suppose the clown’s name is Jimmy Flannery. So, nice trick. Point for you.
t.r.: I’m not here to earn any points with you, Jimmy, or whatever the hell your name is today. I’m here to get to the bottom of this once and for all. So tell us: why have you been spending your weekends sitting around all day at Bushnell Park?
T.B.P.C.: You just think I’ve been spending all weekend sitting around there. I’m there one day a weekend.
t.r.: You didn’t answer my question.
T.B.P.C.: For fuck’s sake, does it have to be like this? I go there to express my disgust about involuntary electroshock in the State of Connecticut.
t.r.: And how’s that working out for you?
T.B.P.C.: Not too great.
t.r.: Then why the fuck do you keep doing it?
T.B.P.C.: I’d like to ask if you have any better ideas but I already know what you’re going to say.
t.r.: Then do it, say it for me since you think you’re so fucking smart.
T.B.P.C.: First off, this was sorta your idea. Partly. And I promised I would stick with it because all my ideas are shit. And I like the idea. It’s a great idea. Genuinely. It just sucks actually doing it.
t.r.: That’s not what I was going to say.
T.B.P.C.: I said “first off.” Secondly, you’d probably say some smart ass remark about how I think I have all these great ideas and I should just go and do them all because I think I’m so fucking great and everything like that.
t.r.: You’re being a sad excuse for a clown right now.
T.B.P.C.: Know what’s a sad fucking excuse for a clown? That I even have to do this shit at all. That’s how fucking bad the situation is. That this is the best fucking idea I’ve got.
t.r.: You don’t have to do this.
T.B.P.C.: What the fuck else am I going to do?
t.r.: Do you want me to answer that?
T.B.P.C.: I don’t have anything better to do. And before you get on about all the shit that we’re working on, the clown is still a priority. He can’t just fucking disappear.
t.r.: Why not?
T.B.P.C.: Then what is the point?
t.r.: Can’t the clown disappear?
T.B.P.C.: Sure. But, of course, there must be a finale to the show.
t.r.: I see. A finale. To the show. What show might that be?
T.B.P.C.: The show? I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I just make this shit up as I go along, like a good clown.
t.r.: Any mistakes?
T.B.P.C.: This is a mistake. This fucking interview is a mistake. We haven’t even talked about involuntary electroshock or the fucking marathon.
t.r.: Which would you like to talk about then?
T.B.P.C.: Happy Halloween to you too, okay? Now, fuck, okay, both. Every single person running in the Hartford Marathon is putting themselves at risk of involuntary electroshock. They’re all a danger to themselves. Running a marathon is physically damaging to the body. And since it’s in Hartford, and we have the data now to prove that 30 petitions were filed in the Hartford Probate District last year to involuntary electroshock people, it’s no fucking mystery whether or not it happens.
t.r.: I’d like to know more about these petitions and I think our readers would too.
T.B.P.C.: I filed a FOIA request to the Connecticut Probate Court and I’ve got data on all of them. Every fucking district that has done this shit since 2012.
t.r.: And when can we see the data.
T.B.P.C. Okay, it’s not ready. I have some concerns about the accuracy of the data from 2012, 2013, and maybe 2014.
t.r.: What kind of concerns?
T.B.P.C.: I don’t believe it.
t.r.: You don’t believe the data provided to you by a Freedom of Information Act request is accurate?
T.B.P.C.: No, I don’t.
t.r.: So they lied?
T.B.P.C.: I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt that it was a typographical error and asked them to verify it before I release it.
t.r.: I’d sure like you to elaborate on why it is you don’t believe the data.
T.B.P.C.: It can’t possibly be true.
t.r.: Sometimes the truth is unbelievable, isn’t it?
T.B.P.C.: Yes, in some cases, definitely. But I think you’re misleading people to create some kind of drama around this, and it’s going to throw everything to shit if it turns out that there really was an error.
t.r.: Who is throwing what to shit?
T.B.P.C.: What they sent me is unbelievable. That’s why I asked them to verify it. When I get the verification, then I’ll know. And I’ll share it all. But if you start suggesting some crazy shit is going on in 2012, 2013, and 2014, and it turns out they made a mistake, then your casting fucking spells on all of this.
t.r.: I’m not the one who is giving the people authorizing involuntary electroshock the benefit of the doubt.
T.B.P.C.: Oh, come on. Whoever it is that put this data together isn’t signing off on involuntary electroshock. It’s the judges. The probate judges, specifically. And, yes, the psychiatrists and the heads of the hospitals. They all have to approve it. And if you’d seen the fucking data as it was printed in their table, you might have doubts too. So, fuck me for being a good scientist, okay?
t.r.: Fine. I’ll wait like everybody else. But don’t say I’m the one who told you to hold off on publishing your paper with all this data to give the State a second chance.
T.B.P.C. Dude, can we just talk about the marathon and allow that thing to be it’s own thing?
t.r.: If you could try just a little bit harder to somehow connect the Hartford Marathon to your electroshock protest.
T.B.P.C.: Okay, if you run in a marathon, you are choosing to do something that puts yourself at risk. That makes you a danger to yourself. And if you are a person who chooses to run a marathon, then, I ask – why are you doing it? And whatever fucking answer you have, there’s an entry in the Diagnostics and Statistics Manual of Mental Disorders that has your name on it. Is that enough?
t.r.: You could have added that the combination of being a danger to yourself and having a psychiatric diagnosis qualifies an individual for psychiatric incarceration, which can lead to forced drugging and involuntary electroshock treatment.
T.B.P.C.: Yes, that’s the point. That’s why we’re protesting the Hartford Marathon.
t.r.: And you’re not just claiming this is a protest since you were already planning on being there?
T.B.P.C.: It’s always been a protest. There, ya happy? Fuck it. Okay? It’s always been a protest. I am so sick and fucking tired of doing this shit, I hope they ask me to leave. I should have done it with the lawnmower like I originally planned so that they’d have asked me to leave long ago and I wouldn’t have to keep doing this shit.
t.r.: But what would you do instead?
T.B.P.C.: Then I could find out! If the option was taken away, my mind would allow itself to fill in the void with something else.
t.r.: Are we done here?
T.B.P.C.: Are we done? I didn’t even want to do this.
t.r.: I asked nicely.
T.B.P.C.: Are you done?
t.r.: I’ll keep going as long as you keep yapping.
T.B.P.C.: Is this about the fucking mime thing? I’m not a mime. I do talk. But, okay, fair point, I did not really like talking as the other clowns I’ve done. This clown is fine cause it’s a bullshit phony ass fucking clown. Nobody really gets how that makes any sense at all, because pretty much all the other clowns didn’t have face paint. And it sucked being in character and talking to people ‘cause I felt like an ass hole. But, I just be myself and wear the clown shit, and I’m fine with it.
t.r.: What about the clown from the St. Patrick’s Day parade? Aside from that hat, what’s the difference?
T.B.P.C.: Seriously? Honestly, fucking Christ, okay? No, the clown isn’t fucking Christ. And it’s not Christ. I mean, maybe it’s fucking Christ cause – just forget it. Forget I said anything about Christ. That was a different clown. And he didn’t speak. I mean, sure, I guess there were some words exchanged. But I wasn’t doing a character. I was just trying to be myself as a clown. And, yes, I was a little angry. And now, I’m doing my best to be a sad clown. I don’t even like the angry clown. I don’t wanna be fucking angry all the time.
t.r.: If the clown at the parade was an angry clown and not a sad clown, then why was he crying?
T.B.P.C.: You know I can’t answer that.
t.r. Fair enough! Let’s just pretend it was because you heard yourself singing and it was so painful it brought you to tears.
T.B.P.C.: Then why wasn’t anyone around me crying?
t.r. How could you know that?
T.B.P.C. Touche.
t.r.: So, that was an angry clown and now you’re a sad clown? I’m just trying to make sense of all this.
T.B.P.C.: No, you’re not! You know damn well what the fucking clowns are! You’re just trying to milk this shit for a fucking interview to explain it. I know what you’re doing. The only issue is that the clown from the St. Patrick’s Day parade and this clown are wearing the same thing, except for the hat, and I am not doing any characters for them, and they need to have different names, and, yes, the current clown with the green hat is Jimmy Flannery because I used Jim Flannery for the one with the black hat.
t.r.: Black and grey!
T.B.P.C.: Yes. And I’m sorry again about your hat.
t.r.: You know that was never my hat. And don’t bring me into this!
T.B.P.C.: Oh, you don’t like it, huh? Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, like your real fucking name?
t.r.: I fucking dare you.
T.B.P.C.: Goddamnit. Just erase that shit.
t.r.: I’m not erasing it. I want everyone to see what you just did.
T.B.P.C.: Nobody knows what just happened.
t.r.: They know, but they may not understand.
T.B.P.C.: Why don’t you spell it out for them?
t.r.: I’d rather let you do that, my dear.
T.B.P.C.: Because you’re better than me at this shit. No matter what it is, you’re gonna win. Even when I think I’ve got you beat. I knew it the moment you kept going when I pressed you, that I was going to lose whatever the fuck that was. As for how and why that is, it doesn’t really matter right now. It’s too distracting from the marathon and involuntary electroshock.
t.r.: If that’s what you want to believe. So, how do you want this to end?
T.B.P.C. You know exactly how this is going to end.
And with that, our sad little leprechaun named Jimmy Flannery retreated for a smoke.
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