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Thanks to Rhonna Soubiea for the
idea for this tale. She sent me a story written by a woman
who was going through the agony of getting ready for a class
reunion. The poor woman was trying to fit back into the
dress she wore to the prom, etc. This is just the male
version of that story.
Also, this year is the 30th year of
my high school class' graduation (not that I graduated that year),
so it all seemed to gel. I spent a long time, fully
three minutes, coming up with the title. This title had to
be special and attention grabbing.
It was my wife Sandi's idea that
the reunion should turn out to have people being nice, but
Warmheart doesn't recognize it. I was going to have
him go and be mauled and bullied just like he was in high
school. In the original version, Warmheart receives
the invitation and there are wise-ass comments scrawled in ink on
the it; stuff like "You still called Warmheart, ya fucking
bozo? HAHAHAHA". It turns out that
the kindest, most warmhearted people I know are the ones who come
up with the coldest ideas for the stories. Like with
the Death of a Clown story. It was her idea that Warmheart
would not see a clown again "unless it was through the sight
of my rifle". It was kind, warmhearted Steve
Smith who - when I told him that the phrase "a vanload of
retarded adults" was funny to me - added the perfect
touch: "all wearing helmets". It's
that twist, that extra touch that makes it for me.
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