Escape From Clowntown Podcast E.R. Flynn

When it comes to horror and comedy I’ll admit my tastes can get pretty corny, and when Halloween rolls around they get extra CANDY corny.
On that note, here’s two audio goodies to pop into your plastic pumpkin treat collector.
The first segment of this podcast is all in good fun—and hopefully doesn’t land me in court.
As for the second segment, I had to assure my wife, the hobby gardener, that I wrote this piece almost a dozen years ago and it has nothing to do with her. However I did notice that lately she’s been spending a lot of time sharpening her garden tools. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.
Please enjoy the show.
The Transcript
(For those who want to read along or can’t understand my ridiculous accents.)
The Zombie DR. Wuth Show
SOUND: RADIO DIAL TURNING THEN MUSIC
ANNOUNCER: It’s that time once again for the Zombie Dr. Wuth Show! Sex and Relationship advice for Monsters and their loved ones. Now here she is, fresh from the morgue, Zombie Dr. Wuth!
SOUND: APPLAUSE
ZOMBIE DR. WUTH: Velkommen Everybloody! I’m Dr. Wuth, your undead devotee to sex and relationships! I’m here with my new assistant Ted who will be helping me to take your calls.
RIGHT, Let’s get into it tonight, shall we?
Hello Caller, Voo are on der Air! How can Zomibie Dr. Wuth help you?
CALLER: (heavy Breathing. Sound of Wolf howl.)
ZDR: (Sound of disconnect) ACK! I always get der heavy breathers! It must be my ghoul looks! Next Caller!
ASSISTANT TED: Doc It looks like we have a man named “Vlad” on the line 2 for you.
CALLER (Vlad): Helloooo Doctor.
ZDW: Tell me, Vat’s yer problem?
CALLER (Vlad): I’m having a problem vid my brides.
ZDW: BRIDES? JUST HOW MANY BRIDES YOU GOT?
VLAD: Usually 3 to 5, but it really depends on da century. But I’m thinking I might just stick to being a bachelor. Da women today are just too demanding. Blah! My last couple of break ups with have sucked me dry!
Folks may call me a blood sucker but none of dem have met my wives’ lawyers! Oo boy! BLAH!
Thankfully when you’ve lived as long as I have you learn how to bury your valuables in more than one grave, if you know what I mean. HA! HA! HA! But honestly, all I vant is to catch a quick bite with a nice girl and have her not be a crypt-digger!
I tell ya, It’s driving me batty!
ZDW: Vlad it sounds like the next time you’re looking at a pretty neck, perhaps ask the lady for a pen and get her to sign a “Pre-nip Pre-Nup!”
NEXT CALLER!
ASSISTANT TED: We’ve got Ann on the line 3 and she’s got question about height differences effecting relationships.
ZDW: Go ahead, Ann. Tell me your problem.
CALLER (Ann): (Woman with Brooklyn accent) Hello Doc. Do you think a big height difference can be detrimental to a healthy relationship?
ZDW: It depends. How much of a height difference are we talking about?
CALLER (Ann):CALLER (Ann): A couple hundred feet.
ZDW: Ah.. I see. Go on…
CALLER (Ann): Well, I wouldn’t mind this big hunk so much since he’s got a nice head of hair, and a body to match, but sometime his jealousy can be too much!
ZDW: Really?
CALLER (Ann): Whenever he sees me even looking in the direction of a man, he goes storming off.
Next thing you know, we have to hash things out, like every weekend from the top of the Empire State Building!
He says it’s the only place where he can gather his thoughts and quietly discuss his problems. Which is kind of a lie when you consider he spends the whole time swatting at planes!
ZDW: Ahhh, it sounds like vat you have is the classic Aggressive/ Accommodating Struggle in a relationship. He gets aggressive, and you accommodate his rages. Dis is a form of emotional abuse the two of your share. You should end things immediately him!
—Just be sure to do this somewhere in New Jersey since I have a nice condo in the building next to the Empire State Building!
NEXT CALLER!
CALLER: (heavy Breathing. Sound of Godzilla.)
ZDR: (Sound of disconnect) ACK! I don’t have patience from you

This Podcast is a part of a related post on Substack. Click here to read that.
An astrophysicist, a politician, and a priest were taking a walk in a park while they discussed the finer points of cosmology, science budgets, and the religious implications of space travel.
Just as they were about to exit the park, a flying saucer dropped out of the sky and landed right in front of them.
The three stopped in their tracks at this sight. As they stood there, wide-eyed and in shock, a hatch opened on the spaceship. From it exited a small green alien dressed in a nicely tailored business suit. The alien walked toward them. The three noticed that the alien was carrying what looked to be a book.
“Greetings, Earthlings!” The alien spoke in perfect English. Although if truth be told, to the trained ear it spoke with a slight Brooklyn accent.
“I am a representative from the Intergalactic Fidelity Publishing Company here to offer you ‘Intergalactic Truths and Solutions.’ Within the pages of this book are answers to the universe, as well as solutions to your world’s problems. These fine leather bound and gilded books are made available to you so that you may achieve a more harmonious and perfect world.”
“Will it solve Global Climate Change?” inquired the astrophysicist.
“Yes! Volume. 2, Page 237.” the alien replied.
“World Hunger?” asked the priest.
“Volume 3, page 45.”
“Wars and Political Strife?” asked the politician.
“Indeed! Volumes 6-7, pages 78, 156 and 459.”
The astrophysicist rubbed his chin in thought and, “When you mention ‘volumes,’ I see that the book you’re currently holding reads that it’s only Volume 1. Where’s the other volumes?”
The alien’s face lit up with a smile as he spoke “Ah, how observant of you! Yes, for only a small monthly subscription we will send you a new volume each month. ”
The politician was the first to grasp the situation and blurted out “Subscription? Wait a minute—”
But he was interrupted by the astrophysicist, “—You’re an extraterrestrial encyclopedia salesman!”
“It’s a living. Think of me as more of a ‘messiah’ offering you a better world. Seriously, think about how much the children of your world need this book. You’ll barely notice the cost of the subscription fee compared to the benefits.” the alien offered in his best honest sales appeal.
The politician was getting visible perturbed, “Who knew our first off-world emissary would arrive with a sales pitch!” He then became demanding, “Please, no more beating around the bush. What’s the cost for these books?”
“The Intergalactic Fidelity Publishing Company only requires that you to send us five priests every month in exchange for each volume.”
“Errr…What do you do with these men of religion?” The priest asked with more than a hint of ambivalence.
The alien moved a little closer to the priest and replied, “We eat their brains! Blind faith makes for the sweetest tasting brains in the universe!” He then showed the priest a toothy, saliva dripping smile.
“WHAT! THAT’S UNACCEPTABLE!” Screamed the priest.
The alien tried to assuage the priest’s dismay. “Don’t worry. We do this in the most humane way possible. While each subject is sedated, we gently scoop out their brain and replace it with a highly evolved, symbiotic flan. Afterwards, we return these individuals back into their natural setting. Honestly, friends and loved ones hardly notice any difference!”
“THAT’S NOT HELPING TO CONVINCE ME!” The priest shrieked hysterically.
The politician turned to the priest, grabbed his arms and shook him. “Now just calm down. Is it really that bad of a trade? We send them a few of our more nutty fundamentalists and in exchange we get a paradise on Earth.”
“Seems like a very reasonable contract to me.” the astrophysicist chimed. He then spoke to the alien, “May I have a closer look at that Volume 1 you’re holding?”
As the alien

Let me apologize for the delay in posting comics. The July 4th Holiday and then a bit of home construction pushed back my schedule a bit.
Once you hear a more detail description of what I’ve been up to, I’m sure you’ll understand that certain events were out of my control, or more accurately, slipped out of my control.
A Small Update
My wife calls me a “small man with small measurements.”
This wonderful little nickname arose about twenty years ago during our drives we’d take in upstate New York. On each weekend we’d pick a different destination and take a shot as to how to get there. Since I didn’t own a GPS unit and smart phones weren’t invented yet, all I had to rely on was a well-worn Rand McNally map tucked inside the glove compartment.
Invariably though, during every one of these drives, my wife would require a bathroom stop, exactly when we were in the middle of nowhere.
I would try to ease her bathroom urgency by telling her that a rest stop was just a mile or so down the road.
It took her a few years to realize that I was speaking in terms of “a country mile,” which anyone who grew up in a rural setting knows that this means a distance ranging from 1 to 50 miles.
I guess it was about the 30th time that I used this ploy when Deb lost all patience with me.
“JESUS CHRIST! YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE THE NEXT GAS STATION OR REST STOP IS, DO YOU?” She screamed at me.
I calmy replied, “What? Like I said it’s just a mile or so up the road. We’re practically there! Look at the map in the glove box!”
I knew Deb, the perpetual New York City urbanite, couldn’t read a road map to save her life. This always bought me a few miles before she went nuclear on me. However this time, I guess the launch codes were plugged in and the piss missile was about to exit the silo.
She yelled, “GOD DAMMIT, FLYNN! YOU’RE A LIAR! YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE? YOU’RE A…YOU’RE A… YOU’RE A SMALL MAN WITH SMALL MEASUREMENTS!FIND ME A BATHROON NOW!”
With a command like that, a person becomes extra motivated to go full speed to the next available toilet.
Fast forward to today.
I may have waited some twenty odd years to prove her wrong about my measly measuring abilities, but alas, I did!
I waited until we owned our first home together to prove to her that my dimensional estimating abilities were above par. This fixer-upper we owned was purchased, partly because that’s all we could afford, and partly because I saw it as an opportunity to show my measuring prowess.
This was due to the fact that so many things needed repairs: Floors, Windows, Closets, Toilets, Walls, Ceilings and the Doors. To make matters worse, not a square angle or standard measure can be found anywhere in this hobby built hovel. From what I could tell the home was built in the 1940’s by a man who was crosseyed and only measured in cubits.
Despite all those negatives, this place was a perfect testing ground for me to dispel my wife’s opinion of my survey abilities.
Oh, I made a big show out of every project. Huffing and broadcasting my every move with a variety of tape measures, rulers, straight edges, snap lines, angles, and even a map compass if I needed it!
Loud exclamations of my exactitude in analyzing the distances between points A and points B were made with every cut.
I wielded a tape measure like a samurai sword. I was the shogun of Measuredom.
Then finally my coup de Grace came when we decided to replace the back doors on this house. They were moldy, old French doors that barely functioned. Every year required some kind of maintenance to keep out old man winter. Squirts of Caulk around the cracks. Weather stripping over weather stripping. The doors where looking more like the gates of Hell than anything even remotely designed by the French.
Finally a few months ago my wife lost patience with this abomination and decided to order a new door.
She wanted to also pay for the door’s install, but I convinced her that was wast

I don’t know about you, but I spend at least two hours every week on the phone and screaming into automated phone systems, “Operator! Operator! Representative! …Human! Let me talk to a Human!”
This experience on its own makes me very apprehensive regarding the use of Artificial Intelligence in any way, shape, or form.
If you’ve read any Issac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, or even older, Karl Capek, you know one thing: That all robots are not to be trusted and they hate humanity!
Of course we really can’t blame AI and Robots for this hatred. If Humans are the creators of these machines, and we’re are one of the most screwed-up, self-destructive species on the planet, then it’s no big surprise we’d create something as equally funny in the head.
It’s been a while since I released a new podcast episode so I thought I have fun with this one. This episode is dedicated to the hilarious insanity of our future robotic dystopia.
Here’s a list of the segments on this podcast:
0:00 - Intro
0:25 - The future of computers
1:45 - AI Insult Comic
4:40 - By the end of the Century
5:00 - Doc Bot 5000
8:08 - No, that’s Good!
8:41 - Extistential Computer Humor
10:11 - Rent-a-Friend
19:43 - Outro
I hope you enjoyed the show. A new cartoon will be heading your way shortly.
Cheers,
Ed
Useful Links to Consider:
https://ledger.humanetech.com/ - The Center For Humane Technology has created a factoid site that presents the invisible harms to society which uncontrolled social media and information distortion is having upon us.
https://www.humanetech.com/course - a Course to help people train those who are creating technology to remember to build it with humane standards in mind.



This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.erflynncomics.com/subscribe

This is a Halloween Special episode of The Escape from Clown Town podcast that features creepy music, scary sounds and stories plus and array of weirdness to amuse any fan of Halloween.


This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.erflynncomics.com/subscribe

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.erflynncomics.com/subscribe

Given what’s occurred in the country recently, I thought I’d make a podcast episode that points out just some of the foolishness of where the United States is and where it might be headed. But I’ll leave the final analysis of these stories for you to decide the meanings.

The Beach
One sunny day, a man drives his modest gas-practical little car to a beach at the shore. He parks his car on a street near the beach and proceeds to walk to it. Upon entering the beach, he then takes off his shoes so he can enjoy the feeling of the sand and sea water massaging his feet.
Meanwhile, another man drives his giant gas guzzling four by four jeep to the beach at the shore. He drives fast and recklessly, screaming at the slower cars to get out of his way. He is looking forward to being on the beach, where he can then loudly play his music while barbecuing steaks on the large gasoline powered grill he’s loaded onto the back of his jeep.
Once he’s arrived to the entrance of the beach he sees there are others just like him who have driven their large jeeps, trucks and SUVs onto the beach. Resembling an encampment of an invading army, or perhaps more like the burning oil fields of Iraq during the gulf war, the other drivers have set up their large grills next to their autos and are enjoying the beach enhanced by the smell of burning meats.
The man admires his fellow gas hogs and then looks down the beach to see a lone man walking on the beach.
He huffs in scorn at he man’s foolishness. After all, why bother to walk to the beach when one can drive up as close to the water as possible?
The man in the jeep then precedes to push his gas pedal to the floor as he charges onto the sand.
Unfortunately, the man has made an error in judgment. Due to all the other jeeps, truck and SUVs also charging onto the beach, the sand at the entrance to the beach has been churned up and softened into a series of lumpy sandy tire traps.
As the man attempts to speed onto the beach, he finds that his Jeep gets quickly mired in the sand.
He tries to put the Jeep in reverse to back out of the holes his tires have dug into the sand, but the aggression with which he uses to gun the engine only sinks his tires deeper into the sand.
The angry man gets out of his jeep to inspect the situation. The oversized tires on his auto are nearly buried in the sand.
He yells over to his fellow Jeep, truck and SUV brethren for help. However, they pay no mind to him, as they’re listening to their music too loudly while filling their bellies full of grilled meat.
Other large vehicle drivers, who are a bit more careful, enter the beach and pass by the man, giving neither a glance his way nor an offer of assistance to him and his hopelessly stuck jeep.
The man tries to call a tow truck but he finds that his cell phone has no service.
Meanwhile down the beach, the man who was walking on the beach has had a sufficient amount of the sand and sea water gently massaging his feet. He decides to leave the beach.
As he walks off the beach he sees the distressed jeep driver and the collection of selfish other drivers. He makes a wide path to avoid them as he exits the beach and heads back to his modest little car parked on the street. Upon arriving at it, he shakes some sand off his shoes, enters the car and starts it up.
As he drives off, the man looks into his rear view mirror and catches a glimpse of the entrenched jeep driver who is now screaming and cursing at his vehicle.
The man smiles and drives away.
Soviet Scissors
Yuri Popovich sat at his boring and repetitive job on the production line in the Comrade Khrushchev Scissors factory. He watched the scissors die-cutting machine stamp and spew scissors to the conveyer belt.
As he sat there he thought about his squalid little state supplied apartment and how it needed plumbing repairs; Its mildew stained walls also badly needed painting. Yuri then thought about how the apartment lacked electricity at certain times of th