too funny for words - takes ages but my god is it worth it - dont skim read now
Imagine if you will, a Man Who Loves Circuses ... here was a throwback
to the days of yore when medival thespians and travelling players
would entertain good King Richard with their tumbles, conjuring and
bear baiting. In the twentieth century, however, the Man Who Loved
Circuses found little in the normal travail of everyday life with
which to whet his appetite for bluff, honest human entertainment ...
save for circuses.
Many is the day he would tramp the bleak streets of London in search
of trapezists, wirewalkers and tumbling fools. On one such day, just
as he feared his daily endeavour might fail, he came upon a billpost
roughly pasted to a wall, its blaring colours and ungainly typefaces
at variance with the sordid dirty bricks to which it was forever
affixed until the melt of the fell slushy snows of January should wash
it to oblivion.
"Come To The Magnificent Circus" it broadcast to the blank stare of
our hero. "See the amazing high wire act, the death defying quadruple
somersaulting trapezists, Madame Petulengro's Amazing Performing
Poodles and, by public demand ... The Silly Clown !" You may imagine,
dear reader, the warm gush of fulfilment and anticipation which swept
through the frail collection of flesh, bone and stringy sinew that was
the Man Who Loved Circuses.
And Lo! It came to pass that The Man Who Loved Circuses attended the
circus that very night. Sitting at the circumference of the magic ring
he thrilled as the lights fell. The ringmaster, resplendent in red
serge and silk shinings announced each act. The trapezists performed
impossible feats, effortlessly throwing their bodies through the air,
seeming as if to have received the gifts which only the birds enjoy.
The wirewalkers danced and juggled on a wire so slender it was as a
single silk strand, the performing poodles quipped their busy way
through fiery hoops and formed pyramids of impossible height from
amongst their number. And then ... The assembled multitude hushed, the
arena was plunged into black night, a single drum rolled and suddenly
the darkness was split asunder by a spotlight beam of such brightness
and narrowness that it seemed to rend the very World. Caught in the
furthest point of its incisive reach was ... the Silly Clown!
The crowd erupted, children screamed, women cried and grown men were
seen to wipe a surreptitious tear. The Silly Clown bounded into the
ring and continued straight across, leaping to the top of the
circumferential barrier directly opposite The Man Who Loved Circuses
and but an arm's span from him he looked down. Addressing the hero of
our tale he intoned, in a rich baritone, "Are you the front end of an
ass?" The Man Who Loved Circuses attempted, without success, to hide
his perplexity and whimpered in reply,
"No". An insignificant response, but all that he found possible.
"Are you the rear end of an ass?"
Again our friend was bereft of response except a mournful "No".
"Then you must be no end of an ass!"
The crowd exulted, an elderly man had a seizure, such was the height
of his delight, whilst several younger women were seen to have fits of
laughing hysteria and grown men became speechless with mirth. All
except the Man Who Loved Circuses. He could not find the clown funny,
try as he might.
All around people were happy and laughing, he was drowning in a sea of
delight, but a sea in which he could not swim. That the joke was at
his expense was clear, he knew not why nor even how. Shamed by his
incomprehension he rose from his seat and even as his visage took on
an ever ruddier hue he left the auditorium, the sarcastic and sadistic
wails of derision from the audience accompanying him to the point of
egress.
Alone in his garret the Man Who Loved Circuses gazed at the poorly
distempered walls and peeling wallpaper. How could this have happened
to him ? Why had he not seen the joke ? Why was he the butt of the
Silly Clown ? He had no answers and, as is so often the way with the
human temperament, his ignorance slowly turned to hatred. He would
repay the Silly Clown and in kind, but just as his revengeful thoughts
began to consume him a more sanguine concept emerged. What if it was
just bad luck? Of course that must be it! He did not know the Silly
Clown nor vice versa, it was the purest chance, an unfortunate
happenstance, but what to do?
All night he pondered and as the dawn rose and the twittering of birds
overcame the small noises of the rats and mice gnawing at the
wainscot, he had it! He would attend the circus again and watch
carefully whilst the Silly Clown chose another victim.
All day he exulted in his cleverness and planned for the evening. Once
or twice he even found himself smiling secretly at the thought of the
discomfiture to be visited that night upon another. Surely here was
the measure of the Silly Clown's genius, that he, the Man Who Loved
Circuses could be laughing at a joke he had yet to hear!
And lo, the evening came and the Man Who Loved Circuses entered the
Big Top. Taking again a front row seat, yet one which was on the
opposite side to the site of his former distress he waited.
Once more the imposing figure of the ringmaster, resplendent now in
blue with silver trimmings, announced each act. The trapezists
performed impossible feats with no net to protect their bodily
existence, effortlessly throwing their bodies through the air as if
suspended upon celestial bonds. The wirewalkers unicycled and
blindfolded hopped on a wire of shimmering steel. The performing
poodles snapped and postured through the fiery hoops and formed
pyramids of improbable height. And then ... The assembled multitude
hushed, the arena was plunged again into black night, a single drum
rolled and suddenly the darkness was split by the spotlight.
Illuminated in the furthest point of its incisive reach was ... the
Silly Clown!
The crowd rose as one, children mewled and puked, women fainted and
grown men roared their approval. The Silly Clown bounded into the ring
and continued straight across, leaping to the top of the
circumferential barrier but not as he had done before; changing
direction once again he ended directly opposite the Man Who Loved
Circuses and looked down. Addressing the hero of our tale he intoned,
in a rich baritone,
"Are you the front end of an ass?"
The Man Who Loved Circuses was minded to leave at once but was held by
a strange power he did not understand. He whispered in reply,
"No".
"Are you the rear end of an ass?"
Again our friend was bereft of response except "No".
"Then you must be no end of an ass!"
And so it was that crying in his fierce acknowledgement of dishonour
and deceit the Man Who Loved Circuses was once again driven from the
theatre of dreams.
In the following days his hatred and need for revenge grew stronger
and more cold. He knew what was to be done. He made an arrangement to
meet with the Grand Vizier of Circuses, than whom no man knew more
about circuses. The Vizier would explain all and defeat the Silly
Clown on his behalf. At the appointed hour he presented himself at the
tent of the Grand Vizier, a massive construction of silk and brocade
with colours of the rainbow enmeshed in the weave of its rich fabrics.
The Grand Vizier listened, intent and grave, whilst the Man Who Loved
Circuses recounted his tragic tale. When all was told and the man was
left limp and exhausted through the travail of reliving his shame and
distress the Vizier considered for some time. Eventually in a deep
brown voice, redolent of the mists and mysteries of the orient he
said, "My son, yours is indeed a tale of woe. But alas my powers are
insufficient. The Silly Clown is a practitioner of the darkest of arts
and I am powerless to help you."
Distraught, the desolation of the Man Who Loved Circuses was pitiful
to behold and the Grand Vizier was moved beyond telling.
"Or perhaps, just perhaps?."
"Perhaps what oh Great Practitioner?"
"Perhaps if you could locate the Master of Wit and Repartee he surely
would assist you. There is no power he cannot overcome nor deploy. If
any man can help you it is he."
"And where shall I find the Master of Wit and repartee?" "As to place,
there is no precision. The foothills of the Himalayas is the greatest
aid I can be to you. Now away ! Seek the Master for it is there your
troubles shall be laid to rest."
Man Who Loved Circuses left that very night. Travelling by rail and
hired contrivance he travelled across Europe to the very edge of the
Asian mass. Arriving at an enchanted forest he mustered his courage
and forged through without mishap. At the shark infested ocean he swam
strong and true and arrived safely at the far bank. He hiked through
desert and slowly, oh so slowly his route began to rise. The
temperature dropped with the altitude and he began to see snow capped
mountains on the horizon.
After several days he was struggling through snowdrifts and across
rock crags. Eventually he approached the last major face of mighty
Everest itself and there, as if by magic, he found a small rough
wooden shelter. With trepidation he approached and then entered.
Within all was bare, no food, no furnishings nor accoutrements of any
type.
Seated in the lotus position at the very centre of the floor was a
wizened old man dressed only in a white loincloth despite the
temperature which was many degrees below freezing. The man was snowy
haired and bearded. With a shaking voice Man Who Loved Circuses
addressed the figure.
"Excuse me sir, but are you the master of wit and repartee ?" There
was a silence which lasted for several hours before the response came.
"I am my son. And you are the Man Who Loves Circuses, you are here to
tell me your troubles. Draw near, sit, and recount them. And so it was
that the Man Who Loved Circuses did as he was bidden. He explained
about the delights of the circus, the music, the dancing the coloured
lights. He described the dress of the ringmaster, the actions and
feats of the trapezists, wirewalkers and performing poodles. And then,
his voice cracking with emotion, he came to the Silly Clown and his
fearsome joke." When he was finished the silence was palpable.
The Master of Wit and Reparte did not move, only a very slight rise
and fall of his chest indicated that he had not expired. At length he
responded.
"My son, such a tragedy has befallen you. Of all people to fall under
the baleful spell of the Silly Clown, you who have never done more
than enjoy and exult in circuses should not have to suffer so. And yet
... there is nothing you can do."
The Man Who Loved Circuses thought he would expire from very
disappointment and was about to protest when the master resumed his
discourse.
"No you can do nothing, but I, the Master of Wit and Reparte, I may
yet be able. I shall accompany you back to the far off land from which
you hail and deal with the Silly Clown on your behalf, or perish in
the attempt!"
And so they left, arm in arm. Down the foothills of the Himalayas they
travelled, across the desert. Together they swam the shark-infested
ocean and dared the enchanted forest to do its worst. Eventually they
managed to find hired transport and travelled together across Europe
to the very heart of London. Even now they journey was not ended and
they continued to the place where the circus was now resident.
Taking their seats beside the ring they waited. Sitting at the very
circumference of the magic, the Man Who Loved Circuses thrilled as the
lights fell. The ringmaster, resplendent once more in red serge and
silk shinings announced each act. The trapezists performed
unbelievable feats, effortlessly throwing their bodies through the
air, seeming as if to have received the gifts which only feather can
bestow. The wirewalkers danced and juggled on a wire so slender it was
as if it was not there, the performing poodles quipped their noisy way
through a multitude of fiery hoops and formed pyramids of impossible
height from amongst their number.
And then ... The assembled multitude hushed once more, the arena was
plunged into black night, a single drum rolled and suddenly the
darkness was shivered by a spotlight beam. Caught in the furthest
point was ... the Silly Clown ! The crowd erupted, children threw
fits, women shed tears of wonder and grown men hurrahed until their
throats bled. The Silly Clown bounded into the ring and continued
straight across, leaping to the top of the circumferential barrier
directly opposite the Man Who Loved Circuses and the master of Wit and
Reparte.
Addressing the hero of our tale he intoned, in a rich baritone,
"Are you the front end of an ass ?"
The Man Who Loved Circuses gazed anxiously at the Master of Wit and
Reparte, but he made no move and so he replied as strongly as he
might
"No".
"Are you the rear end of an ass ?"
Once more our hero sought the solace of the Master of Wit and
Reparte, but he remained impassive. With trepidation he prepared to
respond once more when the Master of Wit and Reparte rose.
Standing at his full height he mounted the ring and gazed untroubled
into the depths of the soul of the Silly Clown. The crowd hushed,
bemused. The Silly Clown, unsure, stopped. He swayed, almost
imperceptably.
Unhurried and strong the Master of Wit and Reparte stared at him
until, in a voice like thunder, resplendent with the magic and craft
of his calling he uttered :
.
.
.
.
.
.
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.
.
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.
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"Fuck off, you red-nosed bastard"
― the man who loves jokes, Tuesday, 25 June 2002 00:00 (twenty-one years ago) link
five years pass...
eight years pass...