The Greatest Show on Earth? Not for me, Jack.
It started as a day like any other. I was awoken from my fitful slumber by a call from my temp employment agency, asking me to work at the circus. Assuming I would be riding elephants, or at least juggling flaming sticks, I threw the covers off and SPRANG AGILELY FROM MY BED.
Arriving at Fox Studios, Sydney, site of the Cirque Du Soleil, my place of employ for that day, I was dimayed that 1) the side was nearly deserted 2) the was no sign of a pachyderm - in fact, I couldn't seven see a pile of their droppings which would have served at least as some small, smelly compensation and 3) I was immediately placed in a hot, airless shipping container to stack boxes of popcorn kernals (in contravention to the Geneva Convention's Clause 34.8.0901.64353: something about having to provide employees with oxygen). Anyway, I figured an elephant ride would be some sort of reward at the end of the shift for all my hard work.
I soon found out I had FIGURED WRONG. My reward at the end of my shift was to be approached by a man in a suit I had not seen before, led around the food tents and have small, chocolatey balls lying melting on the hot asphalt pointed out to me. I was then handed a roll of paper towels and asked to "pick them up". I briefly consider rebelling, shouting "FUCK YOU BUDDY!" and with SPEED SO GREAT AS TO BE ALMOST IMPERCIPTIBLE, headbutt said gentleman, possibly caving his forehead into a shape similare to those melted Maltersers, whose picking up had so earned my ire. (see how I tied that altogether? That's the sort of cleverness sprinked throughout my DEVASTATINGLY AWESOME SCRIPTS. Hollywood take note). But in the end I smiled demurely, took the paper towel and picked those cocolately suckers up. Who was I to argue - after all, he was wearing a suit.