An emergency has been reported in this building.
Please cease operations, and leave the building,
Utilizing the nearest exit, or fire exit stairwell.
Do not use elevators. Repeat: Do not use elevators.
Well, who woulda guessed?
Who woulda known?
They’re kicking me out of my own Grand Show.
They took my top hat and took my cane,
Then shoved me down You’re Assed Out Lane.
Revolt! Revolt! had come the tumult,
It felt like a jolt of a thousand volts.
“What the hell is this!” I demanded.
I demand you shut up or be reprimanded
I glared at he who had made this demand,
The Killer Clown (of course) is now in command.
Behind him stands the rest of my Players:
Body Snatchers, Computer Hackers, Ghosts, Ghouls, Soothsayers,
Giant Rats, Albino Bats, the Living Dead, Corrupt Mayors,
Rabid Dogs, Talking Logs, Weed Whackers, Shady Slayers–
Suddenly the Clown seizes my wrist,
Putting a halt to that character list.
Are you paying attention to what I am saying?
No, of course not, your mind is out playing.
This is serious, you’re in quite a plight,
Yet somehow you don’t show an iota of fright.
No matter, he shrugs, in time you sure will.
How does it feel to be on this end of the kill?
It feels okay, I say with a shrug,
Except you have the grace of a crackheaded thug.
And it’s much too soon to act so smug,
Unbeknownst to you, your grave is dug.
The Clown keeps his frown turned way down,
Then picks me up, and whirls me around,
And slaps me around which makes quite a sound.
Now you sit your dumb ass down,
Because I’m the brand new law in town.
He goes on to tell me the problem at hand:
The victims to murder–less supply than demand.
All the Players want to run amok,
But running amok only happens with luck.
Fuck luck! He shouts, Fuckin’ luck fuckin’ sucks!
Yikes, am I sensing a bit of disgust?
This problem could have just been discussed,
And that would have ended all of this fuss.
Talk is cheap, and you’re in too deep.
Now I’m going to sow what you did reap,
You fuckin’ short ass white haired creep.
Hey! Now that wasn’t very nice . . .
. . . let me give you a piece of advice:
It would be wise to close your eyes,
Tuck your tail between your legs and die.
Whoops! Did I say “die”? I meant walk away.
Well whaddya say? Are things gonna be okay,
Or will I be forced to fuck up your day?
What the fuck did you just say?
For that, Dear Ringmaster, you will pay.
“To Pay is the Way of the Show,” as you say.
Now’s a good time for you to pray.
Ha! The Clown wants me to pray,
Except that today the Clown is the prey.
There’s a concept here that’s easy to follow,
Although, for him, it’s hard to swallow.
Yes, I’m the Ringmaster. No, you can’t run amok,
Yes, you hate that. No, I don’t give a fuck.
You see, Mr. Clown, you don’t have the power
To kick me out of the Show at this hour,
Or any hour, no matter how dour the mood of the crew.
Oh what, oh what, am I going to do?
The Grand Show has always gone on in my head,
And will continue to do so until I am dead.
So you can’t kick me out, I can’t be mislead,
This is my head–born, fed, led, and bled.
So unless you behead me (then you’ll be dead),
This Show remains mine, and you in my stead.
But I can be forgiving, this time I’ll be nice,
I’ll forgive you this one time, but I won’t do it twice.
So get back to your tent and get out of my face.
Remove your dumb ass from my personal space.
For the one thing you’ll learn on this day, this night,
You can’t beat the Ringleader,
No matter your might.
You may be in for quite a fright,
I can’t believe you revolted . . .
. . .now sleep tight . . . .
Pictures via Role Play Gateway
If you liked this, don’t forget to check out the previous installments.