4.02.2006

45!

Title: Cowboy Up


"Seriously Cam, this has never happened before! Just ask my mom, she doesn't miss a show!"

"Michael, your mother wears Army boots with her muumuu, and thinks that Bat Segundo is a hostile mammal who eats cats. I don't think I'd consider her to be a particularly credible source of information. "

Cameron had a point. But then, Cameron was full of points. He had a nose like a terrapin, long bony legs, and wiry hair in all the wrong places. How could you not laugh at a guy like that, even without the makeup? Some guys have all the luck.

"Not so much as a snark or guffah or even a sneer. We never should have followed the promenading poodles!" Michael grumbled. "Everyone knows that you put the clowns out in the arena before the animal parades, or the audience falls flat!"

Cameron shook his head, "Forget it Mikey- But, maybe we should stick with the original routine from now on." Cramming the wire-waited-trousers and rainbow-suspenders into his duffel, Cameron left Michael for the dusty sunshine outside.

For as long as he could remember, Michael had wanted to be a clown in a rodeo. He'd been smitten with the roar of the greasepaint, the smell of the crowd shifting in the bleachers, the tickle of Camel butts smoking in the palm, the crackling laughter in the afternoon sun. Friends dismissed his dreams as the will of the wisp, but Michael assured them that he could muddle through.

Starting his career as a galleycat serving up day-old-dogs with balloon-bread-buns, Michael had done everything from cleaning pens to anchoring at the chutes. He captured his big break as a fill-in for another clown who'd been freight trained by a disgruntled bull.

"Back in the day, people knew funny!" he murmured, reaching for the cold cream.


Michael reminisced on the early years of clowning that were his pride and glory. A good stomp from the two-clown-long-horn followed by an "Oooohooowee my aching bunions!" used to raise roaring cachinnation. These days he was lucky if it garnered a polite chortle.

Times had changed, and Michael had tried to change too. Over the years he'd learned that toilet references and sexual innuendo trumped slapstick any day. Today he had decided to make his most drastic revision yet; a revision which was met only with a cold, unsettling silence.

Michael's reverie was interrupted when the tent flap lifted to reveal Cameron and four others, twelve-pack in tow. Before Michael could speak, his mother stormed in, her muumuu caught in her thick boot socks. She stared coolly at each of them, her library card held out like a badge, and thundered, "drop everything and give me ten...books!" The whole gang bellowed with laughter.

Even mother was funnier than Michael today. As he turned back to the mirror Michael wondered, "perhaps I did go a bit far with the sky-clad hand-stand."


Sky clad hand stands? No, Miss Snark begs..no no no

Scoring to come

1 comment:

Sam said...

Like the image of the mother in a muumuu and army boots...reminds me of me gran. LOL