Yeah, you would have been excited to have grown up in the
carnival too. Who wouldn’t? I got my edumacation from the best in the business.
Rosy, The Bearded Lady, taught me how to read and write, even though Rosy was no
more of a lady than Stephen Tyler was, he sure could pull it off. He was smart,
fatter than an over-fed hamster, funny, and grew up, just like me, in the carny.
Out of ‘em all, I miss Rosy the most.
Socco the Clown, taught me, if you want to call it that, about
the birds and bees. He was a dirty fuck, though. A fun-painted face, most parents
would want to hire to play with the kids at a birthday party, was, underneath
all of the paint, a rotten, dirty fuck. He could twist the balloons into just
about anything you can think of, and I mean anything. I’m not one of those guys who think clowns are
scary, I’m more like a guy that wants to kick the shit out of every clown I
see. Luckily, I’ve long been away from that scene.
The “ride-ops” were all on speed. And I don’t mean just a
few. I speak literally. These guys would stay up days on end, setting up and
breaking down their machines. After hours, they’d all gather into one of their
trailers and party hearty. It still amazes me that the people boarding these
rides would trust those guys. One look at their tweeked out face, and toothless
smiles, would make me reconsider letting their grungy asses lock me into one of
the potentially life-ending rides they built, and for which they are
responsible. Uh, uh, no way! But people do.
You’d think I’d’ve gone the way of the carny, growing up in
it, and all, but I didn’t. I’m surprisingly, more quaint that those weirdo’s. If
I had more time to tell you stories, I would, but I’m running late for an
interview. A Youth Councilor.
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