Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bull @#$!

The circus is in town and forgive me if I don’t wet myself with excitement, but I HATE the circus. This is a problem. It’s a problem because I have a kid that will undoubtedly want to go one day. If I have my way, my son will never learn about the circus. It is a stupid and overly elaborate place where you sit in uncomfortable seats and smell elephant crap for three hours.

And we can’t forget the clowns. Tell me something, why is it that a grown man is allowed to parade around in a costume and a perma-smile for the sole purpose of entertaining children and he doesn’t get arrested? A priest could never get away with that.

Somewhere along the way a mother told her child that she’d be proud of him no matter what, and this is the result. I don’t care how many of you freaks just climbed out of a clown car in full costume. That’s not talent. I once saw twelve Mexicans climb out of a Geo Metro in front of Home Depot and they were all wearing steel toed boots. Top that.

Suffice it to say, if your forty year old son is performing for a crowd in oversized shoes and too much lipstick, you failed as a parent.

Lastly, a trip to the circus wouldn’t be complete without an overpriced hot dog or snow cone. I don’t know if it’s the music or the lights but something convinces you it’s alright to pay sixteen dollars for a funnel cake.

Hey everybody, want to see me ride my motorcycle in a tiny round cage while I dodge two other people on motorcycles? No, not at all. You can keep your animal excrement, your epilepsy inducing strobe lights, and your acrobats…and don’t you dare tell my kid about it, either.