"Not Exactly the Greatest Show on Earth!"

My name is Francis Porier, and since I was twelve, I wanted to join the circus. I remember sneaking out of the house to watch Charlie Chaplin movies down at The Bijou, and I'd never miss one. My favorite one was called "The Circus". Now, I'm leaving home, and I'm leaving my family behind. I don't want anything to do with them anymore. I don't want to think about the "why" of it; I just want to move on. This week there's been a touring circus in town and they leave tonight, around midnight. I want to be with them when they go.

There's the trailer I'm looking for. In brightly colored paint across the side it reads, "Danny Boyd's Circus of the Burning Stars". Inside is the man himself, Mr. Danny Boyd. I ask the man for a job. I'll take anything he's got. He says he's got something. all right. When the caravan stops in Birmingham, Alabama I'll start learning the ropes. I guess until then I'll just enjoy the ride.

Soon enough we're in Birmingham. He wasn't kidding about learning the ropes. My first job is helping set up the main tent. It's summer, it's hot, and I'm out here pounding stakes and tying off guy ropes. Wouldn't be so hard it if wasn't for all the rocks. Got to pull them out with a long iron pry bar, and these stakes can't go just anywhere, or this tent's gonna topple. It's not the greatest job in the world, but I got a place to stay and they'll be food waiting for me at the end of the day. Right now that's as good as it gets, really.

I try not to get distracted, but I can't keep my eyes off the acrobats. They've been out here practicing for hours now and there's no sign that they're gonna stop any time soon. Hard to believe it's possible for anyone to jump like that. They twist around midair like a leaf caught in a storm, and land so perfectly that the only thing that hits the ground is their toes. That's what I want to do, instead of yarding out these rocks like a caveman.

We've been through so many small towns now. This one girl, Sarah Buckley, has been trying to teach me a few of the rolls. She's a nice girl, even though she talks a bit funny. Says she's from Montana. I never been up north, but I know that's a long way from New Orleans. She's one hell of an acrobat though.

I'm starting to do pretty decent, myself. I'm not missing those landings like I used to, and my hind parts are thankful for it. Too bad for Danny Boyd though; he gets a kick out of seeing me land all wrong. Gawd, that man's got a laugh. He's going to break those suspenders of his with all that belly shaking. He's a good man, though. If I ever talk about giving up, he'd convince me to stay.

When we get to Raleigh, North Carolina he tells me he's got a new job for me. He wants me to perform. Now, I was hoping he meant being an acrobat, but he wanted me to work with the clowns. He thinks a guy that can roll and tumble like I can would been a boon for the act. I try to talk my way out of it, but if he's anything, it's convincing.

He'd howl and shout, "Francis... c'mon buddy, we need you out there! You're like a walking punchline, kid!"

I can't say I want to be a clown, but I want to pound stakes even less, so I take the job.

Time for the first show. Greasepaint smells like tractor oil, but I guess it could be worse. We're in the small side ring, me and the other clowns. My job is to set up the big finish. One guy's supposed to toss a pie at me, and I got to duck and roll under it so another guy gets it right in the face. When I stop the roll I need to be close to the table over there, so I can take another pie and throw it back at the first guy. Got to do it all in one fluid motion, so it catches people off guard. They ain't expecting that kind of talent out of a bunch of clowns, no doubt.

I get winged by one of the pies, and I got more meringue in my hair than I've ever put in my mouth, but the crowd loves it all the same. Danny says he wants us in the center ring for the next show. We're going to be the opening act to warm up the crowd. I ask who did the opener before, and he says it's that weird fortune teller guy. The guy that calls himself "Valphazar the All-Seeing". That guy seems so full of himself it's a wonder he ever needs to eat supper. He ain't going to be happy this, but I'm glad to have the opportunity.

I got a good night's sleep, a bit of practice, and now it's time. We're going to do the same act we did last night, and this time we're going to get it right. I know I just got to dodge and roll a little bit sooner.

The first clown's about to throw the pie. I just got to roll under it and. . . aces! I see the pie flying past as I flip backwards. It's sails by and hits the other guy right in the pus, but then he starts screaming bloody murder. He's clawing at his face trying to get the pie filling off. I'm over by the table now, but instead of taking the pie there, I grab a seltzer bottle. I run over and give him a good spray in the face. Oh damn. . . he's cut up, and bleeding bad. Looks like some nutjob put chunks of glass in the damned pie!

We grab the bleeding clown, cover his face with his wig, and turn him away from the crowd. They might not have seen the blood from their seats. The Ringleader shouts "Don't worry folks, it's all part of the show!" to put people at ease, and we dash out the back flap of the big top.

All part of the show. . . what kind of sick bastard puts glass in a prop pie?! I know I had my hunch.

Want to know what happens next?

Issue #2 - "Thrills, Chills, and Stolen Wills!"

If you'd rather read the PRIMUS DATABASE entry for Punchline, click here.