|
|
|
 |
 |
SKY-HIGH SHAME We had always been the closing act, the one that really brought down the tent — the act that caused even the calloused cotton-candy man to look up, completely dazzled: The Goldschmidt Family Trapeze Act. Anyway, I was sending Vabka to Maccek, and Maccek was sending Vabka back to me. It hit me mid-toss as my palms' perspiration gleamed beneath the spotlights: I had forgotten to powder my hands. Vabka's hands slipped right out of mine, and she plummeted to her death in front of thousands, her limbs flailing in the air for something to hold on to as she went down. The crowd applauded, thinking it was part of the act. I had no choice but to bow and smile, because, after all, the show must go on. Afterwards, Maccek shamed me for parting my hair to the left, rather than the traditional Goldschmidt-right. The gorgeous contortionist beside me looked away and laughed. It was totally embarrassing. |
|
|
|
 CANNON BALLED I was crawling into my cannon for the human cannonball act. After years of trying to shame me into leaving the circus, my parents were giving my chosen life a chance by seeing my act for the first time. I slithered to the bottom of my cannon only to find that the damn gymnast taped pictures of naked women all over the place! (That gymnast totally hates me.) Naturally, my black spandex suit ripped while trying to contain my erection. When the cannon fired mere moments later, my erection scraped against the side of the cannon, so by the time I actually emerged, I was no longer a man. Now my parents are even more ashamed! |
|
|
|
 THE HIGH BEAM So I was heading out for my floor exercise when I spotted this mad honey checking me out. After I got done with my routine — highlighted by a flawless aerial cartwheel followed by a flip-flop — I walked up to her and asked if she wanted to meet me in the elephant pen. Well, I must have done something right, because after she finished her routine, things got hot and steamy — and I'm not just talking about the endless piles of elephant shit. Anyway, I went for a feel on her thigh, which was eerily skinny, so I had myself a look, only to find my hand on a huge boner! I was so embarrassed! |
|
|
|
 GAS POWERED CAR So me, Jacko, Blinky, Baldo, Aldo, ZeeZee, Ogopogo, Sniffles, Humper, Tango, Zippy, Frank, Plinky and Zippy's dog Spike were in the clown car about 60 miles away from our next tour stop, when a bean burrito I ate back in Las Cruces caught up to me. I let a big, loud, smelly one rip, and all the guys looked at me. But I was holding Spike on my lap, so despite the cliché, I blamed it on the dog. They decided to kill it. |
|
| « Back to the November 2005 issue |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
