So terror and death weren't the answer, this time, at least. Evil Old Man stood in the middle of town, casually observing the
irrevercible trauma he'd caused. Eons could pass, and nobody would ever forget what had occurred here. Ten million dead
russian clowns lay heaped among rubble and fire, and all of their childhood dogs and goldfish. Even Evil Old Man couldn't understand
why the rip in the time space continuum brought out all the russian clowns through history here today, but he did a nice job of killing
of them. And why shouldn't he? He was evil, eh? Yeah. Nothing ever stopped him before, why should he develop anything against killing?
He got over that pretty quick. He walked around the mountains of painted and bloody flesh, trying to find something to eat -
it was almost lunchtime! He noticed a fragment of cotton candy sticking out from under one of the fatter clowns, so he lifted him up
and found that it wasn't cotton candy, just funny-colored clown hair. Damn. He ate it, didn't taste much different, anyway.
Evil Old Man decided that there was nothing left there for him, so he walked onwards to the next town. He bought some ice cream
sandwhiches and mailed some bills he had, and then he decided to go to sleep.