"Dummy"

"You know what the difference is between a ventriloquist and his dummy? One is the brains of the operation, the other tries to talk without moving his mouth...Ha!"

The tuxedoed puppet known as Bucky clutched his sides as he cackeled maniacally at his own joke. He sat in a tiny chair, built to a scale that suited him, rocking back on two legs. Next to him, hundched uncomfortably in the small trailer, was the massive form of Edgar, who by standards was considered a giant. His abnormal proportions were all the more apparent when compared to his fellow carny, especially in the cramped space they currently occupied.

"Oh, boy...Max is so easy...Just like his sister! Ha-Ha!" Bucky nearly toppled over as a new stream of laughter came belting out.

Edgar grunted, and shook his head.

"Why are you always so hard on him, Buck?" The giant asked.

The puppet gestured, as if dismissing the question.

"Max is a moron! He thinks he can just treat me like some run-of-the-mill blockhead...I mean, c'mon, look at me!" The doll jumped to his feet and twirled around, showing off his two-foot frame. "I sing, I dance, I write all of the jokes for our act. He would be nothing but a barker if it wasn't for me!"

"So why do you stick with him? Why not get your own act?"

Bucky sat back down and thought for a minute before responding, "I would, but truth is, if it wasn't for Max, I woudl still be locked in a trunk dryrotting, so I guess I owe him for gettin' me out."

He paused, before continuing, "But as soon as I feel that debt is paid, I'm gone. No strings attached."

Bucky nodded, as if agreeing with himself. Edgar nodded too, but was more because he was sleepy than agreeing with the Dummy.

"So, did you hear how the ventriloquist died? Somebody stuck a scratch-and-sniff sticker on the bottom of the pool! Ha...."

"Cash Crap"

Int. A dimly-lit carnival trailer. Clouds of smoke fill the air. The walls of the trailer are decorated with cult-classic movie posters, rock-and-roll memorabilia and a variety of other stoner paraphernalia. Sublime is playing softly in the background.

ZIGGY, a dragon that is reminiscent to Puff, without the Magic, or perhaps a green, urbanized Barney, lounges in a bean bag chair in one corner. He holds a bong in one hand and appears to have taken one too many hits from the device. The trailer's door opens. ENTER THE DOGFACE BOY.

DOGFACE : It smells like a forest fire in here, Ziggy! What the blazes are you smoking?

ZIGGY : Just a little medication...


DOGFACE: Dude, that's spinach.

ZIGGY : What?

DOGFACE : You're smokin' spinach, numb nuts!

ZIGGY : Maybe I am, Dogface. Maybe I am.



DOGFACE: No...Really, you're smokin' spinach...And canned spinach at that.

ZIGGY : Well, give the Green Giant my compliments! He's sure made me jolly...

DOGFACE: You can't get high off spinach!

ZIGGY : How do you know? You ever smoked it?

DOGFACE : Well, no, but... It's just common knowledge. People don't get high from spinach!

ZIGGY: What about Popeye?

DOGFACE : Popeye? What about him?

ZIGGY : Look at the facts man. His best buddy spent all day scarfin' hamburgers, his girlfriend was a meth-head with a pimp named Bluto, and he was always squintin' and suckin' on that pipe. Popeye and his whole crew were gettin' blasted on spinach. .

DOGFACE: Oh, my god, you've smoked yourself retarded.

ZIGGY : And speaking of some trippy-ass cartoons, what was the deal with Dagwood Bumstead? He had that hot wife and all he wanted to do was eat sandwiches and sleep. Dude was definitely dippin' into the ganja...

DOGFACE: We weren't speaking of "trippy cartoons", we were talking about you smoking spinach!

ZIGGY: Ooooh...Maybe I should try cookies! That big, blue dust mop on Sesame Street is always raving about them.

DOGFACE : You're an idiot...Anyway, Boss says you got 10 minutes to curtain, so get a move on.



ZIGGY : Sit, Ubu, Sit. Good Dog.

CUT TO BLACK

"Big Top"

They call me Blaze, a name I picked up is Desert Storm working demolitions. I was special Ops, so any mission I may or may not have been a part of never happened. At least that would be the official story. Now I'm a pyrotechnics expert for the circus, still earning my keeping blowing things up. So, I guess the shoe fits.

The outfit I work for is one of those year round operations that just seems to appear in the middle of the night. You know the kind I mean. One day you're driving past an empty field and the next there's a big tent and the overpowering smell of large animals. We come in the little fanfare, hoping to draw the curious, and once the fat lady has sung, we vanish. The people get a show and we get to eat.

Lately things haven't gone so smoothly. It is that damn carnival. We all know it. They seem to be in every town we lay stakes, stealing our business. When you have the only show in town, everybody shows up, but when you give the folks a choice...Well, they don't always choose you. It was easier before we had to compete with the Professor and his band of freaks.

The other clowns ehre at the circus want to go "Godfather" on the carnies, but the Ringmaster has issued strict orders not to cross the midway. He doesn't want to make our feud a public affair. It's not my job to ask questions. The Boss has been running this show for nearly 40 years, so he must know what he's doing.

"You pickin' up Deadeye today?" Whiskey asks, as I pass his cage.

The lion is our star, trained by the famous Salazar. He's also a raging alcoholc, hence the moniker and the flammable breath wafting in my direction. He's lucky my cigar's not lit.

"Yeah" I answer, barely slowing.

"Make a stop for me," He yells, gesturing with the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels he's drinking. It's the universal sign for "I need a refill".

I just grunt my assent and keep walking. I ahve an hour till the asylum officially releases Deadeye into my custody, but its a 45 minute drive and there's always paperwork to sign. This is Deadeye's eighth trip to Branherst, so release is old hat.

It wouldn't be a big deal if I were a little late, but the Boss has a job for us to do and the sooner I get Deadeye, the sooner we can get the job done. It's one like my Iraq days. Something that won't officially happen. We get in, we get out, and we get back. If it all goes right, we'll be back in time for the show. If not, Caliberini will fill Deadeye's slot. That's not an option any star wants to take, so I'll do all I can to get him back in time.

"Aiming for the Skies"

The Amazing Caliberini was the toughest mofo in the Three Rings. He knew it, and so did everyone else. That was why he could keep his head held high, even if his act wasn't a headliner yet. Someday he would make it to the center ring, and when he did there was no going back.

Currently, El Circa de Cykoticas boasted three star attractions. The opener was usually Deadeye, the Juggling Jester. His fiery displays and deft manipulations of hand and eye had earned him some renown as the most daring juggler in the world. Next came the high-flying acrobatics of Triple X. The troupe was made up of two brothers and their achingly beautiful sister. The death defying act was only made more brilliant by the tastefully erotic spin they put on their performance. The closer was a veteran of the circuit. Known as Whiskey the Wild, the trained lion pulled off tricks that would make Sigfried and Roy's cats jealous.

Anything other than the three stars was just filler. Sure, Caliberini's name was on the poster, but almost as an after thought. No one would notice it if they weren't actively looking for it. That was something he hoped to change.

Waiting the other acts out wasn't an option. The "Exes" were young, Deadeye in his prime and Whiskey had tenure. Their slots were secured, unless a really spectacular act came along. So, Caliberini worked on his act. He swallowed swords, took sledgehammers to the sternum, cannon balls to the cranium, and dove on dynamite. Tonight he was going to catch a bullet with his teeth, and tomorrow he would wrestle a grizzly. Whatever it took to draw the crowds, he was game.

Yeah, Caliberini was the toughest mofo in the show and anyone who doubted it, wouldn't by the end of the night. He would always prove that claim, just like he would always aim for the skies, whether he was in a cannon waiting to be shot over the Big Top or not.

Introduction to the A to Z Challenge....

When my Dad told me about the writing challenge planned for April, I was intrigued by the idea. As a part of the "blogging community" and as a writer, it was an exciting proposition. So, over the next month I will be posting writing titled alphabetically A to Z.

At first I planned to just write a variety of poems and essays, as I have done in the past, but I didn't find the inspiration. It felt forced and lacked creativity. Then, an idea came to me. Why not write 26 related stories? From there, the juices began to flow, as I began to mold the clay of one of my old creations. The result was what follows in the forth coming April posts. Collectively, I call it "The Show of Shows".

And what is that?

Well, at first there was only the circus, and the crowds came to see it. This was good.

Then the carnival came to town and noone went to the circus. This was not good.

From that day on, the two factions have been at war, and this they call "The Show of Shows"....

"Ordinary Ones"

You can show me all of your picture books
And you can swear its not as bad as it looks
But I know the truth to be had
And I really don't care about that.
I've been a fool only a foolish one could love
I've been fooled a time or two by the man above
But I know the truth to be had
And its not really quite so bad.

So, what are the questions to the answers you seek?
Do you find your conclusions down on your knees?
And who are the ones you think you fear?
Do you run from the all the voices you hear?
Well..

I have a new solution
Bury the fools in the ground

Destroy your institutions
Lay your crosses down

And do you know...
What is takes to live?
What it takes to learn?
Reinstate the truth
Put away your guns
I'm finished with the fight
My ordinary ones

"Night of the Living Dead, Part 6 (Land of the Dead)"

The touch of mortality
Corrupts our sinful flesh
A plague to crush the heart
Beating in our chests
And like the fires of Armageddon
Dancing through the streets
Mindless beasts infect the masses...

The semblance of Humanity
Just one of many masks we wear
As we try to hold on to the pieces
Of this crumbling world we share
Machines of destruction and death
Upon the sanctuary's floor
Pouring their virus into our veins...

Look upon the tower we've built
A reminder of what could have been
Our enemies bare human faces
My killer was once my friend
And this we have constructed
More a tomb than a home
But what is the difference,
Here in the Land of the Dead?