The large man in the pink pants

and bowler hat was walking on stilts down Main Street handing out flowers that squirted people. He was very amused with himself. Mr. Pink Pants they called him. A small town clown

with a big heart. Mr. Pink Pants the Clown was down with painting the town brown. Mr. Pink Pants himself had blown in from another land, where he'd once been crowned.

"What are you doing in my closet?" Rose spoke quietly behind me. "And why are you wearing my pink pants?" Rose's eyes filled with tears. "Don't tell me you're one of those men who

refuse to colour block correctly." He looked at her, ashamed. "Never wear my pink pants with my yellow scarf," Rose whispered to him, "and put on a thong, you've got VPL." He shuff

led the color list again and tried to choose something else. "You know, men have a different way of seeing the colors - than women" - he said. For us, sixteen colors are enough.

This male announcement was really banal and quite ordinary. She thought of boring troupes of men named Norm. She grabbed the color list from him and thundered "

Stormin' Norman is here too. Fifty men named Norm have resistered. They will be at Jimmy's Egg tonight. The unemployed steel workers will also be there feasting for St. Gregory.

Jimmy's Egg soon filled up with people named Norman and unemployed steel workers and the doorman had to start turning people away. Jimmy let them into his chocolate bunny

but the line went around the block 3.14 times, dosie doughed once and seeing it was quiet late summer evening sat down to lick it's wounds in silent protest of the Norman Invasion.