The Broad’s side of the circus

I have never been a fan of the Circus, State Fair, Carnivals, or anything with the word ‘fest’ attached to it. Even if it’s something I love, making it a fest ruins things for me. Beer Fest, No thanks. Really Hot Single Guy Fest… I don’t think so. With that being said, I love my daughter and sometimes as a parent you’re required to do things that suck for the benefit of your child. Someone allowed my kid to see a commercial advertising Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus. Trust me, I will find out who if it kills me. Needless to say, I recently attended a performance against my will. The show began with the annoying Ringmaster bellowing about the ‘Greatest Show on Earth’ and how mind-blowing this whole experience promised to be. A shit ton of clowns bombarded the stage and I felt like I was watching a scene starring the homeless population. They would run a few steps and then fall down for no apparent reason. Just then, I saw something fabulous and most likely un-intentionally hilarious. There was a token black clown amongst the group. He wasn’t wearing any clown make-up and his hair was completely normal. He had obscenely muscular, Popeye-esque arms which were accentuated by the ridiculous skin tight black and white striped shirt he was wearing. He looked like the Hamburglar’s ghetto cousin. His cropped pants were painted on as well, and it appeared that he might have been smuggling an additional clown in his drawers. While Schlongo, the big-peckered clown danced around with the other clowns, I started to wonder how this came to be. No…not the big package thing! The circus career. How the hell does that happen? Was he banging one of the hot Asian trapeze broads in Detroit and BAM! The next thing he knows he’s a god-damned circus clown in a travelling caravan. That had better be one hot piece of ass.

No circus is complete without the random animal acts. There’s a lot of talk about animal cruelty in the circus, and I can certainly see why. The elephants were the first to take center stage. They walked in decked out with giant tarps decorated in sequins and bold patterns. You could tell they were embarrassed and probably even a little pissed off. Everyone knows that type of ensemble isn’t flattering for the full figured. I’m sure they’ll end up in the elephant version of ‘Glamour’ on the ‘Don’t’ page with those little black bars hiding their eyes. Next, we witnessed dogs jumping through hoops, walking on their front legs and doing hurdles in unison. I found myself critiquing one dog because it kept screwing up the jump rope trick. He was standing on his hind legs jumping rope, but he’d trip after several tries. I’m thinking, “Jesus, six times… that’s all you got?” Then I realized that the only trick my dog has ever effectively mastered is the one where she farts and leaves the adults in the room to blame each other. I learned one very valuable lesson from the animal portion of the show; you shouldn’t wear skins from a slain zebra. Before you think I’m going all PETA on your ass, I’m actually doing this as a public service announcement. It turns out that zebras are, in fact, retarded. Wearing the hide of one of these mongoloid animals might make you instantly dumber. The only expectation for the zebras was for them to trot around in a circle and then reverse the process. WAY too difficult. They all started bumping in to each and spinning in confused, random circles. It was like watching a dance class at the Helen Keller Performing Arts Academy. Maybe they hit the sauce before the show because they were forced to wear the same outfit as Schlongo.

As we left the arena, there was a picketer stationed out front with a sign that said ‘Ringling Brothers Beats Animals.’ He was there before the show as well, and I couldn’t help thinking what a bullshit way to waste three hours of your life. I can’t imagine anything worth picketing over. Isn’t this 2010? What’s wrong with firing off an angry e-mail or updating your Facebook status to: “so and so thinks Ringling Brothers should give that jump-roping dog a break. It’s not his fault he fucked up. He’s a dog”. I’ve never understood picketing, and god knows I love sharing opinions. Does it ever need to be expressed on a piece of poster board attached to a stick? Every year a group of jackasses pickets across the street at the ballpark before baseball games because they’re all bent out of shape that the team’s named the ‘Indians.’ Really? You’re that worked up over the cartoon logo, ‘Chief Wahoo’? Is there seriously a relative of yours that bears a striking resemblance to the scarlet faced, grinning chief? Let me guess… your Uncle Dave’s Indian name is ‘Crouching Catcher Hidden Championship’, so it really strikes a nerve? Here’s a piece of advice, buy the hat with the script “I” logo and move on with your life. Chances are Chief Wahoo will get traded to the Twins in a package deal with Slider anyways. The last thing I want is to feel like I’m entering an abortion clinic anytime I head out to the ballpark. To hell with it all… I’m just going to stay home and watch the ‘Greatest Show on Earth’: Sportscenter.


1 Response to “The Broad’s side of the circus”

  1. 1 Jen D
    October 26, 2009 at 8:42 pm

    Still hate your hate of “fests” btw – would love to see you at the IRISH FEST! lol

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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

October 2009
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