The Carnival Was In Town

Super_Star,_Freak_Out_and_KMG_Booster,_night

One of those hard to believe, but true facts. Whence the carnival comes to town, so too, do the carnies.

You know it’s an ass of a day when you have growing empathy for a piece of dog excrement because it’s not getting as much attention from the flies as the rotting carcass of a half-eaten raccoon. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The park was littered with half-eaten cotton candy, corncobs, styrofoam and plastic-coated cups. The trashcans overflowed with crushed Mexican beer cans and wedges of dried out limes.

Where once was green grass was now yellow something or another. Large tracts of land matted down like old man hair. This was the aftermath of Hickory Heights Round-Up Days. Every year, like self-imposed psoriasis, the carnival came.


There’s a lot of shame here this morning. All the sullen teenagers wear bandannas around their necks to hide grotesque amoeba-shaped hickeys. Fact! Over half of those hickeys were manufactured by Geronimus Jones, the very same legendary operator of The Roundabout Twirl. Apparently, under the moonlight, he’s the sexiest goth boy this burb has ever seen. Fact! The pastor’s son, one Zacharias Jones, maybe related, is wearing his recently deceased mother’s faded red bandanna to hide a Geronimus hickey.

The extreme heat index under this windless blistering sun created a most stagnant air. It intermingled with the devastating stench of booze vomit and festering meat. If one were bottling cologne for hell smell, it would have to begin with this very essence.

Julia Anne Jones, acting mayor, and no relation, insisted, “There is more to this malodor than meets the nose.” She held for laughter to no avail.

Long story short, previous mayor, Richard Jones, with some relations, was currently serving a prison sentence for copyright infringement. Let this be a lesson. When The Rolling Stones issues a cease and desist letter, you’d best cease, or be forever desisted.

Sure enough, the wildlife rescue team discovered the raccoon in question, the one garnering all the attention from every single fly in town. An amateur toxicologist, Jay Van Jones, probably related, offered to help. He had determined human sperm was all over the half-eaten creature. There was a loud collective gasp.

It was not a coincidence that Geronimus Jones pulled the cap over his eyes and slinked down in his seat, as the truck began to pull away.

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