“In The Spotlight”

Some things just stick with us, haunting our every moment. Dominating our every thought. That’s how it is for me. One thing I will never be able to forget.
The first time I stepped into the ring was like taking in oxygen after nearly drowning. There was a feeling of giddiness I can only compare to a free fall from a thousand feet. My heart felt like it was going to explode.
I had practiced before friends and family and on my own, but at that moment I was before a real live audience. This time my judgement was in the hand of stranger who would not see the person, but the performance. A hush fell over the crowd, and the lights went down…
When the throbbing pulse of the music began to play, the audience seemed to vanish. It was no longer a performance, it was just me and the stunts. The Amazing Caliberini versus destiny. The music and lights swirled around like howling winds and falling stars. In the distance, the rolling thunder of guns blazed, and I became lost in a storm of bullets.
Nothing had ever prepared me for that moment in the spotlight, and nothing could ever equal the feeling it still gives me. And that’s why I do it night after night. Even if someday it kills me.

“Headcases”

Int.- Clown Car. Blaze is driving. Deadeye sits in the passenger seat trying to balance a pencil on his fingertip.

Blaze (smoking a cigar): So, how was Branherst?
Deadeye: No freakin’ balls!
Blaze(Cut his eyes toward Deadeye): Say what?
Deadeye: No balls, clubs, scarves, devil sticks, nothing! I was really starting to lost it in there. Know what I mean? Juggling helps me keep my head, but did they get that? Nope! I’ve spent the last three months using fruit to help keep me from going bananas. (Shakes his head.) Apple sauce day was real fun.
Blaze: Bet the drugs were good, though/
Deadeye: Average… At best… You know what was really a blast? The people.
Blaze: Who? The staff or the other loonies?
Deadeye: My people… There was one guy who swore he was Jimmy Hoffa. Kept trying to organize a union.
Blaze (laughing): What were his demands?
Deadeye: Extra pudding cups at dinner and a wider selection of fat crayons.
Blaze: So what happened?
Deadeye: Well, finally the orderlies got so tired of all the fuss he was causin’ and took him for shock treatment. He was gone for about a week. Two of the para-schitz…
Blaze: Pair of what?
Deadeye: Paranoid Schizophrenics… Anyway, tow of them got to arguing over what happened to old Jimmy. One claimed it was an alien abduction, the other said there was a government conspiracy that had him killed. They went back and forth until finally old Jimmy was wheeled back into the ward. That sparked a whole new argument between the two. But, they did agree on one thing. Jimmy wasn’t Jimmy any more and they had to keep a close eye on him.
Blaze: Was his brain fried or something?
Deadeye: Most definitely. For the first few days he just sat around muttering to himself. Then one day he woke up and went right back to trying to organize the common people against what he called ‘the injustices of corporate administrators.’
Blaze: Wow, that sounds like some wild stuff. How was the food?
Deadeye: Pretty much like what we eat out here… They got hamburgers, spaghetti, cereal… They just give you different brands. Know what they call Fruit Loops?
Blaze: What?
Deadeye: Loopy Fruits…
Blaze: No way! Do they taste any different?
Deadeye: Nope, taste exactly the same… They even got a toucan on the box… Birdie Bill… He’s got a slogan that goes, “Let your beak be your guide.”
Blaze: Crazy, man. So if it’s the same thing, why do they call it something else?
Deadeye: Licensing, Brother. In this day and age it’s all about licensing.

Deadeye: This it?
Blaze: Yeah, this is the address the Boss gave me
Deadeye: And you’re sure your guy is in there.
Blaze : Yeah, he’s there.
Deadeye: Let’s do this then….

-CUT TO BLACK-

"Greasepaint"

Every clown has a face, and every good face tells a story. It's more than just a big, red nose and greasepaint. It's about creating a unique character. Like any other act, it's all in the presentation. That's what separates the professions jokers for the birthday party bozos.

The clothes, the comedic style, even the act itself all hinges on the face. It's a product to be sold. If the suit makes the man, then the paint makes the clown.

But the clown has to believe in it too. He or she must embrace the face and become one with the character. I am Deadeye the Daring with or without my paint. The makeup only allows the Juggling Jester to surface and give the people a show.

Without my paint, I am nothing more than a deformed madman. Crippled before I was born by the stroke I suffered while still in the womb. My left side is weakened, the muscles of my face drooping obscenely. I am blind on that side as well, and my left eye rolls wildly beneath the lid that never fully closes. Psychiatrists have diagnosed me as insane. The state has institutionalized me eight times.

Without my pain, I am social pariah. With it, I am a star.

"Ferris Wheel"

Smiling faces walk the midway, oblivious to the sinister origins of a carnivals attractions. It is a place of madness and mayhem, disguised by brightly colored paint and pretty lights. Many of the rides are based on ancient torture devices. The games once had much higher stakes. I suppose ignorance really is bliss. It would certainly dampen the mood if people knew the truth.

Take the ride I operate, for example. Seems innocent enough. A big wheel, with seats that hang from crossbars. The wheel turns and the chairs go up, then they come down again. Great fun. But, did you know it comes from an interrogation tactic used right up until the mid-1800's? It's true. They used to strap the person being questioned to a rotating wheel, the base of which was under water. The wheel cranked until the victim was fully submerged. Then they were left there to thrash against their bonds for anywhere from 30 seconds to a full 2 minutes. Just before they drowned, the wheel was cranked again, bringing the subject back up for more questioning. If the answers weren't satisfactory...Down they went again.

The process was repeated again and again until the questioners were satisfied, or until the subject was dead, whichever came first. Fun fact huh?

Still want to ride? Got your ticket? Then step on up, you're the next in line.

"Erotica"

Size matters. Don't let anyone tell you differently. That's not to say that bigger is necessarily better, but it definitely has to be hearty enough to fill me up. I'm like Goldilocks. I want something that's just right. If it's too big I just can't handle it. Too small...well, take the other night for example. This guy come to my trailer with something that was barely a mouthful. It left me so unsatisfied I couldn't sleep. I was up all night tossing and turning.

I will say this, though, if the person really knows what they're doing I can make an exception. Like last night...Oh, it makes my knees weak just thinking about it!

I had this girl come over to take care of me. I don't usually swing that way, but she came highly recommended. She was well worth it too. Fulfilling my every desire right up to the big finish. What she did with whipped cream and syrup should be criminal.

Oh my, I'm getting all flustered. Maybe I'll call her up just one more time before we leave. I could do that now, just to see what kind of breakfast menu she puts together. Cooks like her don't come around often and my appetite demands the best. How do you think I keep up that voluptuous, thousand pound figure? Good food and a passion for eating.

"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