The Bearded Lady is Next (FF)

FF-Friday Fictioneers

Copyright - John Nixon

Times had been rough for the Spangling Brothers- Farnum & O’Reilly Circus. 

With the loss of its elephant act and the ability of folks in even the farthest reaches to view spectacles of all sorts via TV and internet, the need to cut costs became paramount.

“Oh, Scruffles,” called out Russell Gayer, wily manager of the circus, to his number 1 clown, “I have lost a contact lens in the piano. Would you go get it please?"

As Scruffles climbed into the piano, Gayer laid off his first employee.

“One down,” he cackled.  “The Bearded Lady is next.”

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What a bastard!  What kind of person chooses to lay out .... I mean lay off an employee like this?  Then again it ain't too shabby to save on severance, unemployment, and extended benefits when you're laying off an employee and you've got to keep costs low.

So we'll give Russell the benefit of the doubt.  If you click here, you can give Russell and all the other Friday Fictioneers the benefit of the doubt too with respect to their takes on the picture prompt above.

Just keep away from the piano.

The Palace Paillasse

"Are you sure this is the hotel you booked, Brandon?" I asked as we arrived at the fancifully stuccoed and bizarrely terraced lodging place to which we were headed for the evening.

"Yep, that's it," said Brandon, "the Palace Paillasse, and I think it looks cool!"

Well, the hotel did have a playful feel to it, but the  clerk with the pale off-white make-up seemed a bit odd. Checking our reservations, he reached behind the counter presumably to get the room key, but instead produced a bottle of seltzer and squirted me right in the face!

"What the hell!" I shrieked, wheeling around to see a lobby filled with men in baggy pants and floppy shoes, and Brandon aiming a pie straight at me.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Dad," said Brandon, "that I've finally made a career choice." 

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No clowning around, this is my weekly contribution to the Fabulous Friday Fictioneers and Clown School with picture prompt above and story below. I flounced in at 140 words this week, nothing to honk my horn about since the goal is a motley hundred.  

If you're ready for the Big Top, click on the link to sample the varied and daring acts of the many other Fictioneers to be found beneath.  

"Be a Clown?"  Well, Russell and I try.  And every now and then, maybe we succeed.

Why Can't He Be Seven?

                                                            Just look what I'm offering, kid!

My son Brandon will be 17 years old on Wednesday, April 25.  I'm proud that he is turning into a happy, healthy, and  intelligent young man with a wide variety of interests and a well-adjusted and positive outlook on life and the future.

Just one thing.

Why the hell can't he still be seven??!!!

Just yesterday I was staring at "a little kid picture" of Brandon I keep on the bureau. There were those rosy-red cheeks, that long dirty brown hair, and that sweet little smile that seemed just about to say:

"Daddy, you're my hero!"

"Daddy is the fun parent!"

"My Daddy is the bravest, handsomest, most dynamic ...

Now I didn't say he ever actually said any of these things,  only that the sweet little smile in the picture makes it seem like he might be just about to!

I walked the little kid picture over to Brandon and thrust it in his face. 

"Don't tell me, Dad.  I'm on This is Your Life with Ralph Edwards, that old TV show you're always talking about!"

"No, Brandon," I replied.  "I'd like to request you do a simple thing for me."

"Okay, Dad.  What is it?"

"Be HIM!"

"Excuse me?"

"Be HIM.  The Brandon in the picture.  You can do it."

"Dad,  if it were possible to spontaneously become younger,  I'm sure you'd have done it by now." 

"No, Boomers can't.   C'mon,  Bran, I'm  merely asking for a simple act of Age Regression on a temporary basis."

"Well, I don't know, Dad.  I've got a lot of biology homework ..."  

"All right, all right.  I'm offering you five dollars right now to Be HIM!"

I produced a crisp five dollar bill from my wallet and crinkled it temptingly in front of his face.

"Well,  that's not a lot of money for all the molecular structure transmutation I'd have to undergo, and ..."

"Okay, Brandon," I blurted out, "I'll  up the ante.  I'll  buy you a pony!"

Dad,  I haven't wanted or asked for a pony in over ten years." 

"That's just it!  Once you're seven,  you'll want one all over again!"

I could see I was getting nowhere with my simple reasonable request, so I moved on to another,  but related,  subject. 

"What would you like to do for your birthday, Brandon?" I asked.

"I think I'd like to have a party out back for all my friends."

"GREAT!"  I exclaimed.   I'll barbecue hamburgers and hot dogs, rent a moonbounce, maybe we can hire a clown, and ...."

"Dad," said Brandon, "I kind of meant just for my friends and me. Maybe you could ... umm ... go out for a while  during the party?" 

So!  There was to be no Age Regression.   No party, no moonbounce,  not even a damn clown. 

Know what I plan to do during Brandon's birthday party? Go to the movies to see The Lorax.

At least one of us is going to be seven.   

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