Post by xxcynicxx on Oct 18, 2010 17:57:38 GMT -5
“……and that’s a wrap, folks!”
These were the words that every performer on stage that night dreaded to hear. Being part of a traveling circus, you grow accustomed to setting up, performing, packing up, and heading to the next gig. However tonight, it was different….
“Well, I suppose that’s it,” said Ross Caruthers, Ringmaster and employee for the past seventeen years. The gang was sitting around the cramped semi-trailer used to haul performers and equipment. Tough economy. For years upon years, the crew had traveled and performed many nights all across the southeast region. However, the Wesson and Rhymes company had decided to pull the plug on the show and invest their money in what they believed were more “profitable avenues.” They bestowed managerial responsibilities on the show’s “head clown”, Chuckle Bucket. (Known to the others as Chucks) As he lay huddled up in the corner, the ever-present scowl was more noticeable than ever.
“Pssssh! You guys just gotta know where to look. I’ve got a gig at the birthday party for some brat kid of a pro wrestling agent. You know that asshat’s got some change.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” interrupted Ross, “You’ve been in a management position since we started. We’ve been your little pee-ons. All we know how to do…….”
“CARUTHERS! MY OFFICE! PRONTO,” Chucks yelled. The two stood simultaneously and headed out of the trailer. They leapt down and proceeded towards the “office” (The blue Port-a-John outside the semi.)
Both men stood face-to-face inside, a mere inch between them. There was an uncomfortable silence as Chucks gathered his thoughts.
“What did I tell you ‘bout callin’ me out in front of the others? Hmm? I am your superior. These sniveling little ingrates pay money to see ME! Not YOU! You just hold the microphone while the miserable little audience stands and cheers at the mind-blowing feats of myse…..”
“Oh, come of it!” he interrupted angrily. “Show’s over, clown! There ain’t gonna be no more ‘feats’ or ‘stunts’ or ‘microphones’. We’re through! No sponsors means no money. No money means no show and that you aint in charge of SHIT!!!!”
Ross burst open the door and stormed out of the cramped pooper. He angrily swung open the trailer door and disappeared inside. Chucks calmly walked outside, taking a seat on a nearby stump. This was the first time it had actually hit him. The lights were off and the show was over.
He looked up into the cool night sky and whispered aloud.
“Now what?”
These were the words that every performer on stage that night dreaded to hear. Being part of a traveling circus, you grow accustomed to setting up, performing, packing up, and heading to the next gig. However tonight, it was different….
“Well, I suppose that’s it,” said Ross Caruthers, Ringmaster and employee for the past seventeen years. The gang was sitting around the cramped semi-trailer used to haul performers and equipment. Tough economy. For years upon years, the crew had traveled and performed many nights all across the southeast region. However, the Wesson and Rhymes company had decided to pull the plug on the show and invest their money in what they believed were more “profitable avenues.” They bestowed managerial responsibilities on the show’s “head clown”, Chuckle Bucket. (Known to the others as Chucks) As he lay huddled up in the corner, the ever-present scowl was more noticeable than ever.
“Pssssh! You guys just gotta know where to look. I’ve got a gig at the birthday party for some brat kid of a pro wrestling agent. You know that asshat’s got some change.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” interrupted Ross, “You’ve been in a management position since we started. We’ve been your little pee-ons. All we know how to do…….”
“CARUTHERS! MY OFFICE! PRONTO,” Chucks yelled. The two stood simultaneously and headed out of the trailer. They leapt down and proceeded towards the “office” (The blue Port-a-John outside the semi.)
Both men stood face-to-face inside, a mere inch between them. There was an uncomfortable silence as Chucks gathered his thoughts.
“What did I tell you ‘bout callin’ me out in front of the others? Hmm? I am your superior. These sniveling little ingrates pay money to see ME! Not YOU! You just hold the microphone while the miserable little audience stands and cheers at the mind-blowing feats of myse…..”
“Oh, come of it!” he interrupted angrily. “Show’s over, clown! There ain’t gonna be no more ‘feats’ or ‘stunts’ or ‘microphones’. We’re through! No sponsors means no money. No money means no show and that you aint in charge of SHIT!!!!”
Ross burst open the door and stormed out of the cramped pooper. He angrily swung open the trailer door and disappeared inside. Chucks calmly walked outside, taking a seat on a nearby stump. This was the first time it had actually hit him. The lights were off and the show was over.
He looked up into the cool night sky and whispered aloud.
“Now what?”
