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Tacos The Clown

@theclowntacos

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When I'm not Clowning, I'm thinking about Clowning. So had use the cognitive off loading with drawing. I am having fun and it is great opportunity to be off linr.

Honk On!

@theclowntacos #ybrco #clown #art

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When I'm not Clowning, I'm thinking about Clowning. So had use the cognitive off loading with drawing. I am having fun and it is great opportunity to be off linr.

Honk On!

@theclowntacos #ybrco #clown #art

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The Gram's hottest artwork is “SOME TIMES HELL IS TOTAL SATISFACTION!”

Located on a piece of paper clipped to a clipboard on top of a dirty mattress, this exhibit was created by Rocco (also known as YBRCO) a 59-year-old artist who turned his current Gold Age frustration into an act of creative resistance. He lives as a 24/7 public performance piece named Tacos the Clown, using face paint as a human litmus test to sort out the hyper-rigid boot fellaters from the fremen.

Cover your hands with your face, because this new piece from the upcoming Honk Life Shoe has everything:
* A chain-smoking clown with dead blue lips and purple green heroin diamond eye makeup who’s channeling the sad Pagliacci paradox while questioning the status quo.
* A flaming comic book speech bubble giving you cryptic PSYOP life advice in all caps.
* A BDSM demon lady chained to a pedestal in a literal inferno of Hades, bringing that Weimar-era Cabaret resistance energy straight to your eyes.
* Thr Cracked stone walls hand drawn with heavy markers and graphite saves your brain from algorithmic Jell-O and screen-mediated "brain-rot".
* A giant ruffled neck collar that screams, "I’m here to fight authoritarianism with tactical absurdity, but I also do childrens birthday parties."

And just when you think you're safe from the engagement trap, you’ll run into Tacos The Clown @theclowntaco he’s a 300-pound baby clown in aviator glasses who hands you physical print zines as a "tactile ANTIFA snack" for your soul and democracy and screams "Never give up, never surrender!" "HONK ON!"

#YBRCO #CLOWNS #ART!

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#ybrco #clown

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You'd think my return to Clowntown 🤡 was odd, well I'm moonlighting as Al Bundy. The Dragon Wranglers sent me a box of shoes at $2 a pair which retail for $23! I'm like, "you think my jokes are bad?" I'm talented and magical but not a miracle worker. You know what this means? I'm gonna eat a box of ugly ladies shoes and give them away to the staff and my neighborhood chicken heads. Pray for me 'Merica...I am for you but my pantheon is like a Joseph Campbell reboot. 9 Toes in much love Honk Fam #ybrco 🌮 Tacos The #Clown Keep Honking, I'm reloading.

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And then, somehow, I was back in my study.
The ritual began.
I painted myself with the inhibited dexterity of a stoned ape discovering fire for the first time.
One stroke.
Another.
The old face disappeared.
Something else emerged.
And then the temporal pincer closed.
Consciousness returned.
I was standing there in full Tacos the Clown regalia, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear that I am reasonably certain does not belong to me, craving three things:
A cigarette.
A massage.
And whatever y the Clown Corps has designated as Molko Plus Synthetic, because apparently we're doing resurrection rituals now.
Not that I'm an elitist pedo demon.
I have standards.
What matters is this:
The clown is back.
The paint is on.
The nose is loaded.
The tacos are armed.
And somewhere in the Rubber Nose Dimension, the paperwork has been stamped.
Tacos the Clown has been reinstated to full rank in the Clown Corps.
🤡🌮
HONK HONK.
RIDENDO RESISTIMUS.
#ybrco #clown #resistencia

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DAY 21,531: THEY CAME FOR 3
It comes for the best of us in threes.
Apparently I am now keeping score.
So, in the middle of all this magnificent bullshit, I ventured into a part of Phnom Penh I had somehow never properly encountered as a missing chapter of the city hiding in plain sight. Priscilla Q from The D told me that what I was looking for was there.
Naturally, she was right.
I arrived via a suspicious-looking bumblebee Tuk Tuk piloted by a man who managed to circle the same abnormally normal block exactly once before depositing me somewhere that was, technically, where I wanted to be.
I decided to honor the mistake by walking half the distance anyway.
My legs needed the exercise.
Or perhaps they were simply filing a formal complaint.
Either way, this is how I ended up on an unexpected culinary side quest with my diminutive friend and increasingly feral caregiver.
She ordered prahok.
For the uninitiated, prahok is fermented fish, a Cambodian culinary institution and an ingredient capable of clearing a room with the efficiency of a small tactical device.
Alongside it came raw beef.
I bravely accepted a trial bite.
I have eaten prahok before.
This was different.
This was not food.
This was a taste ambush.
The immediate revelation was comparable to taking a swing at somebody dramatically outside your weight class and discovering that they have been waiting their entire life for exactly this opportunity.
One moment you're Icarus.
The next you're a smoking crater.
My palate, previously awarded an entirely imaginary PhD in Questionable Things Humans Will Put in Their Mouths, was instantly reset to 0.1.
And believe me, I've tasted some shit.
After nearly sixty years as a meat popsicle wandering this planet, I have sampled enough questionable substances to make a chemistry professor quit.
But this?
This was the one.
No safe word.
No appeal.
No jury.
Just prahok.
Somewhere between culinary defeat and spiritual rebirth, I finally found the little arts-and-crafts shop I had been hunting for the place where I could acquire the materials necessary for the next stage of the experiment.
Face paint. TBC HONK #ybrco

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ART IS RESITANCE! Los Fascistos like their perverse digital Over Lords, can not actually create. Thie is just the grand scheme of the every living loving leading leaving universe that has us puny little third rock from the sun humans as fragile meat popsicles for nerve endings in order to feel and emote, the black metallic is the color of their skin and pallete. This has them wanting and yearning for what we have and can do. They have spent eons of time, fortune, and empire in order to gain that which they covet the most, our unique ability to create art in all its various forms, styles, and medium...which indeed is The Massage/Message. Even now in the face of our destruction, we still have empathy for their weak inability to create something of their own. They have devoured our Mother, raped her with fences, borders, laws, pollution, and believe they have won dominion over us, the free folk whose hearts, minds, and souls that can never be destroyed or erased completely. This Cabaret 1933/2026 is a show that must go on and on and on. Sing. Dance. Draw. Paint. Sculpt. Write. Act. Love. Clown. Create....that's our Magick, that's our not so secret weapon. Exciting, isn’t it? Terrifying, too. None the less, welcome to The Clown 🤡 Corps. "Keep your powder dry and your pecker/clit hard as the tax code." my first CO used to say (actually he said Chinese Arithmetic sans ciltoratti but you know upgrades.) The questions you have to ask yourself, "Did I create or make something today?" "Did I Art today" "Did I laugh in the face of Fascism/Authority/Death today?" If so, you pass. If not, get on it! I'll wait for you right here, doing my own Razzle Dazzle. We didn't choose The Honk Life, The Honk Life chose us! Ridendo Resistimus #ybrco #clowncorps

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That’s the beauty and the curse of the grease paint, it doesn't hide, it reveals.

The line between "Sacred Jester" and "emerging serial killer in a housekeeper’s muumuu" is razor-thin, but as I accidentally seem to be serving full Mrs. Roper while trying not to clown my late great Papa but manage to nail that knife throw bullseye proves I’m right where I need to be.

It nearly had me crying my coal-smudged eyes off. I lived in his shadow nearly 25 years because after my parents divorce, I was his shadow. He had already gave up his first 2 kids and sure as hell wasn't going to let go of The Bogey Prodigy!

Spreading joy is messy, unvarnished work, and white face or not, (for me, I think not!) this isn't about the art of perfection. It’s about standing in the circus fire, laughing at this emerging self through the wet greasepaint, and transmuting that Sacred Jester energy into a world of pain and misery. Even when it's clearly thine own.

It’s been nearly 40 years since I played this game, but the Jester is still very much alive. Obviously I need to keep shaving, keep laughing, embrace the absurdity, and pass the message on. Wherever you are... love you in my own weird way!
HONK! 🌮🤡❤️ When in doubt, Clown it out! #ybrco

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Every day I spend in The Rubber Nose Dimension, the better I feel. This Honk Life is filled with wonderful and whimsical people who embrace diversity and celebrate the differences that humanity has to offer.

Out here beyond the noise, the paint isn't a mask to hide behind—it’s a beacon to find the fellow weirdos, artists, and gentle souls building a world with a little more color and a lot more heart.

Keep honking, keep loving, and never let the drab world dim your shine.

🤡✨🌈🎈HONK

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I didn't choose the Honk Life
The Honk Life chose me!

#YBRCO #honklife #clussy

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Beneath all the noise, the neon, and the greasepaint of today, the shadow of yesterday still holds a spot in the spotlight.
Before Tacos took the ring, back in the dark, heavy days of Mr. SINISTER, there was Ms. SPRINKLES. She was the light in the dark circus, the joke when nothing was funny, and the soul of the show. We lost her too soon, but she never truly left the tent.

This one’s for you, Sprinkles. Still painting smiles, still holding down the floor, and still missing you every single day.
Forever in the grand finale.
🤡✨🖤Sad Honk
#YBRCO

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