Funny Business

You attempt to demonstrate your harmlessness and joviality by capering past the guards. The shorter one, who until now hadn't spoken, gruffly barks,
"Hold it there! You thought I wouldn't notice? We've got special training to recognize you lot."

You protest, but it's too late. The two guards literally dogpile you and bind your hands. They lead you back to the local clown asylum, deep in the woods, and turn you over to a humourless looking orderly.

After a few years, you find yourself idly honking your nose as you reminisce about the old days. Shame about that adventuring business, but you have more important things to attend to now. You have become a clown, a fate worse than death.