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Squeak squeak. The pounding of the inflatable gavel spread through the tent like a chill in the air. Noses stopped honking, and the laughing hushed. A green-haired clown sprayed the row in front of her with seltzer and the whole tent exploded again.
Squeak squeak. The gavel struck again. The clown in the long red and white striped robe stood from his seat at the back of the tent and squeaked the gavel right into his hand. Then he moved about the tent, squeaking it into the walls of the tent as he went. The hush built up again.
The robed clown walked up to the green-haired clown from behind and walloped her with the gavel over the head, over and over. And over. The symphony of squeaks was only matched by the uproar of laughter that had returned to the tent.
Then there were a few gasps, a couple Wilhelm screams, and dozens of colorfully wigged heads turning to the tent entrance. The robed clown stopped squeaking and turned around too. The gavel fell to the ground with a final squeak.
"Shoot," said the robed clown. "Bobo, we told you the meeting started at nine."
Bobo scooted his walker forward a few inches, then honked the horns on either handle a few times.
"I know," croaked Bobo. "I just like to be early. Evidentally...." Bobo honked a few more times. "So does everyone else. Maybe we could move the meeting to now?"
Bobo patted his gray frizzy wig, knocking some dust away and revealing streaks of red. The robed clown cleared his throat, some confetti blew out.
"You're right, Bobo. Please take a seat." The robed clown gestured toward the last open seat in the tent as Bobo inched toward it.
"Thank you, Robo," grinned Bobo as he slumped into the chair.
PFFFFFFFFFFFFT
The crowd roared again as Bobo checked under his frilly white pants, pulling out a large whoopee cushion.
"Classic," groaned Bobo as he eased back into his chair.
"Okay, okay. Now that we got all the sillies out, let's get to attendance. Gogo..." Robo pointed to a lone lady clown wearing huge spotted spectacles sitting with a typewriter in the corner of the tent.
"Bippy," yipped Gogo.
"Here," hipped Bippy.
"Flippo," queried Gogo.
"Here," cackled Flippo.
"Oh no, sorry, I meant Fifi. Fifi?"
"Here," said a tiny clown, no older than eleven, sitting with her equally blue-haired family.
"Okay, now Flippo," continued Gogo.
"Here," echoed Flippo.
"Bingo!" shouted Robo.
"Here," cheered Bingo.
"No, sorry," clarified Robo. "I meant 'Bingo, we have quorum.'"
"Actually, you're supposed to tell me that," said Gogo. "Not Bingo."
"Yeah, I know, Gogo. Just put it in, we have quorum."
Gogo pounded away at the typewriter without another word. A small stream of steam floated up from Robo's ears, as he turned to the crowd. He reached deep in his robe and pulled out a stack of papers. A couple of younger members honked with excitement and Robo let out a sly smile.
"Okay, we will now do a reading of the last meeting's minutes," continued Robo. A fiery orange-haired clown shot his hand up in the air. "Yes Zippy."
"I'd like to motion that we ummm.... uhhh... wave the reading of the minutes," stumbled Zippy.
"Perfect Zippy," said Robo. "All in favor of waving the reading of the minutes, say 'aye.'"
The tented roared loud with aye's.
"Nay," grumbled Bobo. "Nay, don't do it. We keep the minutes for a reason. Nay."
"I'm so sorry Bobo," smirked Robo. "The aye's have it." Robo summoned a lighter from under his rob. "Everyone wave to the minutes!"
"Goodbye minutes!" squealed the crowd as they waved folding fans and giant finger gloves in the air.
"Nay," wheezed Bobo.
Robo sparked the lighter under the stack of papers and they exploded in a puff of smoke in an instant.
"Onto old business," said Robo. Bobo raised his rickety hand. "No Bobo, old business, not old geezers."
The tent roared.
"Gogo," continued Robo. "No old business."
"No old business," Gogo repeated as she typed.
"Roll call, minutes, old..." Robo muttered to himself.
"New business," called Bobo.
"Thank you Bobo, new business," said Robo. "New business, new business, new business, ahh yes. New business. We're adding another lane for traffic."
The tent roared, not with laughter this time, but with cheers.
"The board has seen your complaints, traffics getting bad. We know. We're here. WE HEAR YOU." The crowd honked with delight.
"Boooooo," scolded Bobo.
"Bobo, come on," begged Robo. "Another lane of traffic, come on, you can't boo that."
"Booooooooo," Bobo's voice rattled. "Where is your sense of community? All of you?" The honking ceased. "We used to commute together. We used to have the best cars in the world. We don't even need ONE lane of traffic, we need one car."
A couple younger clowns turned to their parents confused.
"That's right, kids. There were no family cars when your parents were young. We all fit in the same car. Every. Single. Clown." Bobo stood from his chair with pride. "Our HOA dues shouldn't be going to another lane. The big top, right out there," Bobo gestured. "Right out there, you all see it, everyday. It's in disrepair." Bobo looked over to Fifi. "Little one, your entire life, the central hub of our community has been literally torn asunder since you were born. Have your parents even told you what the big top represents?" Bobo's eyes twinkled. "It represents our entire way of life, clowning around for a big audience, and more importantly, being together," Bobo shakily wiped away his eyes.
"Bobo," interjected Robo. "The money isn't there man. The people stopped showing up long ago. We have the small tents. Gogo manages the google sheet where we rent them out to families. Everybody here is still clowning. We just have to disseminate on the apps now. Bobo, you're the only one not clowning anymore."
"Someone has to take responsibility," shot Bobo. "Just because you don't see the value, doesn't mean you can let things fall apart. Where are we going to be in ten years if we don't fix the big top, and we ignore each other, and nobody cleans the banana peels littering the eight lanes of traffic?" Bobo was yelling at this point. Parents were staring daggers and covering their children's ears. "I'll tell you where we'll be," Bobo said softer. "Separated."
Bobo sat back down.
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT
No one laughed.
As the clowns left the tent, the young Fifi walked over to a sullen Bobo. She followed his gaze to the blackened banana peels, skateboards, and rakes all over the road.
"Someone's going to trip," Bobo said to himself.
Fifi tapped Bobo's shoulder and he looked down.
"Hey miss, don't go walking over there. It's a death trap."
Fifi took a step forward.
"Hey, where are your parents? Don't do that."
Fifi took five steps forward. Bobo began honking the horns on his handles.
"Hey! Anyone, this girl's running around in the street!" Bobo called out.
Fifi took another few steps and slip. She flew up several feet and bonked her head. Bobo rushed to help her, but stepped on a rake, smacking the handle right between his eyes. A tear rolled down his cheek as Fifi rolled over. Bobo laughed for the first time in years.
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I LAUGHED OUT LOUD at the part where Bobo said "we need one car!!" Such a hilarious commentary on the "clown car" concept. I was grinning ear-to-ear the entire time I was reading this. Such an awesome take on the prompt!
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In a surreal, hilarious, and oddly poignant clown HOA meeting, Robo the robed clown leads a chaotic agenda of honks, squeaks, and procedural absurdities. Bobo, an elderly and nostalgic clown, objects to the community's decision to prioritize a new traffic lane over repairing their symbolic and once-vibrant “Big Top.” His impassioned speech about unity and tradition falls mostly on deaf ears—until a young clown, Fifi, connects with his message. When she slips on a banana peel, and Bobo is himself hilariously knocked by a rake while rushing to help, the story lands on a bittersweet moment of slapstick-induced laughter and emotional release.
OBSERVED THEME
Modernization vs. Tradition, with subthemes of community erosion, generational disconnect, and the redemptive power of shared laughter.
The clown HOA is a metaphor for aging subcultures and marginalized traditions trying to survive in a world that no longer values their original form. Bobo represents nostalgia and the communal ethos of old-school clowning; Robo represents efficient, tech-savvy progress. The final moment reinforces the idea that while the trappings may change, the spirit of clowning—shared joy, physical comedy, and togetherness—still survives.
STRENGTHS
Originality & Inventiveness:
This story is completely original—a hilarious and unexpectedly emotional satire with vivid worldbuilding. Clowns running a bureaucratic HOA meeting is a premise loaded with absurdist charm.
Tone Management (Absurd + Poignant):
The story masterfully balances comedy (whoopee cushions, inflatable gavels, Wilhelm screams) with emotional stakes. The shift from laughter to gravity and back again is handled with surprising grace.
Characterization:
Bobo is a fully realized character—gruff, nostalgic, and heartfelt. His arc from curmudgeonly dissenter to unexpected emotional centerpiece is compelling and satisfying. Robo serves as an excellent foil—slick, performative, and pragmatic.
Sharp Dialogue & Pacing:
The meeting dialogue is rapid-fire and richly funny. Each clown has distinct voice and energy. Gogo’s dry procedural precision, Zippy’s flustered formality, and Bobo’s slow-burning righteousness create a vibrant ensemble feel.
Symbolism Without Pretension:
The “Big Top” as lost cultural heart. The traffic lanes as individualism and modern disconnection. Even the banana peels and rakes retain comic timing and symbolic weight (neglect leads to injury, literal and metaphorical).
CONSTRCUCTIVE SUGGESTIONS
Emotional Transition Could Be Sharpened:
The story hinges on a tonal pivot—from zany hijinks to heartfelt speech to soft tragedy/comedy. That pivot mostly works, but could benefit from a smoother transition or slight slowing of pace during Bobo’s monologue. Let the laughter fade more gradually before he starts his emotional appeal.
Perhaps? Add one more beat between Bobo’s initial objection and the deeper speech. Perhaps have someone tease him first, giving him a pause that allows his emotional turn to land more impactfully.
Fifi Could Use a Touch More Setup:
Fifi is thematically important but appears suddenly in the roll call and then only becomes emotionally central in the final beats. Her connection to Bobo’s worldview could be more foreshadowed.
Perhaps? During the roll call, add a small moment where Fifi tries to speak but is interrupted or overlooked—mirroring how youth are often unheard. It would strengthen the payoff of her final act.
Worldbuilding vs. Clarity:
While the clown-world HOA setting is a delight, a few readers might feel momentarily disoriented by how literally to take it (are they clowns by profession, a metaphorical clown society, or something else?).
Perhaps? Clarify the stakes of the HOA—are they actual clowns managing a suburb, or is this an entirely clown-based society? A single grounding sentence early on could orient the reader better without reducing the whimsy.
Robo’s Position at the End Could Be Nuanced:
Robo remains mostly comedic and pragmatic, but he could benefit from a final small emotional beat—maybe watching Bobo laugh again and realizing what the Big Top meant.
Perhaps? A closing line from Robo like, “Guess we’ll need more rakes,” could hint at a deeper understanding without sentimentality.
OVERALL IMPRESSION:
"HOA Meeting - April 26, 2025" is a wildly imaginative, layered piece that masks deeper cultural critique under the floppy shoes of surreal comedy. It’s both funny and moving, rich with subtext and timing, and anchored by a touching central character. With a few pacing adjustments and a bit more foreshadowing, this story could shine even brighter. It feels ready for publication in a literary magazine that appreciates absurdism, magical realism, or satirical fiction.
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