And you say, "Wait. Rube? What is a rube? To whom are you referring?"
Why, I'm referring to you, friend.
And you say, "How can you call me a rube?"
Well, do you work for the circus? Are you circus people? Are you a clown? A trapeze artist? A big old burly roustabout? Heck, are you a regular old carny, smelling of corn dog grease and body odor? No? Well, then you are a rube. A common folk. Are we clear? I hope you can live with it, my dearest sweethearts, because I intend to call you a rube until the end of time.
Now that we've worked that out, let's move on.
My name is Cakey the Jacked-Up Clown. You heard that right. I'll say it again, slowly. Cakey. The. Jacked-Up. Clown. My specialty is knife juggling, but I'm also fairly skilled at acrobatics and street fighting.
You might not know this, but every clown has a unique "face." That's right. No true clown would ever copy the face of another. My face looks as follows: A big blue unibrow that covers half my forehead, a little green dot on the end of my nose, a blood red mouth that is smiling on the left and frowning on the right, a big puff of orange hair. By the way, it's not a wig, and it's not makeup. It's my actual face.
As for the costume, it changes. Sometimes I wear the big poofy yellow one. Sometimes I wear the big poofy patchwork one. It depends on my mood. There's a blue one, a pink one, a clear cellophane one, and a plastic trash bag I wear on holidays.
For the last few years, I've worked for a traveling circus called The Klown Kroo. The terrible spelling in the title is the fault of a big cinder block fellow named Karl. It's a long story. Anywho, when we come to your town--and we will, rubelings, we will--I highly recommend you plop down your centavos and come see us. It'll be two hours of the most intense and troubling entertainment you've ever witnessed. Knives will be thrown, plates will spin, a tiny little man in a top hat will prance about, a big guy will harass some rubes in the front row. It'll be all-around good family fun with minimal suffering. I promise.
Oh, I know what you're thinking, "Cakey, we can't come and see the show. It's not safe to congregate in public places these days! Too many people with brain-sickness wandering about! We might get bitten or stabbed!" Fair point. And you're right, as far as the biting and stabbing goes. However, I swear to you this solemn oath, my rubes: The Klown Kroo will do all in its power to fend off any errant sicklies who wander into the tent. We want our rubes to be relatively safe while they enjoy the show, and I promise you will be as relatively safe as you can possibly be!
At least until the end of the world. When the end of the world comes, we're all doomed, and no one will be able to help you. But until then, come and enjoy the show.
By the way, if you have a brain worm infestation, please don't come. In that case, you're better off wandering into the forest never to return. In fact, two out of every two doctors say the best medicine for brain sickness is being lost forever far from civilization, clothing optional. That's science, folks, and who are you to question science?
Alright, that's about all I've got to say to a rube. To be honest, it's hard to relate to rubes. Mostly, I just want your pennies and dimes and your rapt attention. But I like you as much as I am capable of liking you. When the ever-night comes, I will remember that you came to my show, and I will not hunt you down like a hoot owl in the night. Fair enough?
Good.
Sincerely,
Cakey the Jacked-Up Clown, Esq.
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| not a picture of me |
P.S. -- They wrote a book about my adventures. Read it. Just click the stupid picture below. *Ugh* There, I pitched it. Can I go now?
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