Dear Mr. Motzko,
My sister just got tickets to go see the circus and my parents are making me go. This is unfortunate, considering I have a fatal allergy to cotton candy and a deathly phobia of clowns and tight-rope walkers. The circus is tomorrow, and if I don’t figure out what to do soon, I may be dead. I need your help.
Circus Fearing Man

I’m way ahead of you on this one, bro. Treat this situation with the fear and reservation reserved for Montezuma’s Revenge, Hannah Montana karaoke covers and a night out with Mike Tyson. I’ve never been down with the clown. You can’t spell “sinister government plot” without “circus” (although spelling is not my strong suit-thank you Maplewood Elementary!). When the Night of the Rope is upon us, it will come courtesy of Mssrs Barnum and Bailey. While I appreciate a tastefully done freak show just as much as anyone, isn’t getting us all together under the “big top” just another term for soul-crushing group-think? Think about it; there’s one guy in charge, yelling at you about “fun” with a megaphone. The very words “carnival barker” carry a hidden meaning meant to influence our thinking about the upcoming election: Evil Barrack Ran. You think that’s just a coincidence? I haven’t encountered such subliminal messaging since I stopped listening to Judas Priest records. Fall out with the rainbow fright wig crowd and you’re bound for a date with the dunk tank. Down in Gitmo they call that waterboarding. Attach a hundred trapeze artists to black helicopters and you’ve got one unstoppable invasion force.

If Al Gore gets his way, we will all be driving tiny cars.

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