Children of the corn. At least in it.
Last Saturday Matt and I visited our very first corn maze (ironic, I know–we’re from Iowa, and we’re experiencing our first corn maze in Utah). I don’t think I ever want to do that again. At least we didn’t go to one of the “haunted” ones. I might’ve punched a clown out of frustration and anger. Also fear. And annoyance.
The real question here, I suppose, is what’s a clown doing in a haunted corn maze? Are they trying to give small children heart attacks?