Tightrope walking doesn’t seem that hard. It’s just like a field sobriety test, but on a wire. And, you know, except for that wacko that walked across the Twin Towers in the seventies, there are almost always a few nets underneath to catch you in case you mess up and fall. No, I think tightrope walkers get a lot of unnecessary credit. Theatrics? You call that a performance? Come on, you’re holding a giant balance beam. Again, it’s like nets, balance beams, what else do you want, some sort of gyroscopic stabilizer? You’d have to get up pretty early to sell me any tickets to a tightrope walking show. And then you’d have to duck out of work even earlier, because as soon as I realized what I’d bought, I’d be right back on line looking for a full refund.
And those guys that ride their motorcycles in those enclosed spheres? Please. That’s not a stunt. A stunt would be if the motorcycle was on fire, or if the motorcycles somehow didn’t have any wheels. But three guys on three motorcycles? One, that’s not exciting at all, and two, it’s so loud. Like, I’m watching probably one of the most boring shows on earth, and to top it all off, I’ve got to sit here with my hands covering my ears to show everybody else in attendance just how loud I think it is. Besides, isn’t space-time supposed to be curved anyway? So riding inside a ball should be pretty standard if you ask me.
The clown car? Really? That’s just not safe. How do you train all of those guys to fit in such a tiny vehicle? What if something goes wrong, like what if that car catches on fire before they’re all done with the act? Are you really going to feel good about yourself having watched them all struggle to get out of there, some of them horribly burned, most of them having perished, but not before clawing and elbowing all of their friends in a futile last-minute attempt to escape?
True, the elephants look pretty convincing. But you think about what kind of an elephant lets itself get captured for a circus, I’m thinking it’s got to be the shrimpiest elephants in the herd. No, when I go see a show, I want to see the best. I’m not spending money on easy pickings. It’s like when I buy steak, I don’t want some domesticated cow, no, I want the one the killed the matador with his dying breath.
You call this stuff snacks? I’ve had better popcorn at the movie theater. Way too much salt, not enough butter, you’d think a circus would figure out how to do popcorn, but no, it’s terrible, I want the cotton candy to be fresh, not something out of a plastic bag, and if the vendor guy can’t figure out a way to bring the cotton candy machine along with him, then he might as well switch to candy apples. And come on, is that Pepsi? I hate Pepsi. Who doesn’t sell Coke?
I’m just saying, if you’re going to swallow a whole sword, it kind of defeats the purpose to just pull it back out. Anybody could push a sword down a throat. I mean, I could totally do it. I’m not going to, no, but if I did, I’d make sure to finish it up and wait for it to come out naturally. Yeah, you show me someone who can do that, I’ll call the papers, that’d be a circus. But this clown, and the flame eater guy, one time I was camping and I toasted this marshmallow that caught fire, and I ate it, it was fine, the inside of my mouth was wet and nothing got burnt.
So, no thanks, I don’t want to go to the circus, that sounds really boring. Ask your mother, maybe she’ll take you, but she’s probably tired from watching you run around playing soccer all day. Oh big deal, you scored a goal. You really think it’s that difficult to get a ball past another ten year old? That kid was practically asleep. Who’s coaching you guys? Did any of you even break a sweat?