Blingum&Barley’sbyEthanBooker

Siamese twins Alice and Alison Allison are leaning against the three ring circus tent inhaling rich Mexican cigar smoke into their shared set of lungs. They’re not Siamese or Thai in any fashion, they’re actually from Minneapolis, but they’re conjoined just the same. The girls are wearing a slimming sequined red dress that drapes around their feet; Alice has her hair up in a bun while Alison has let hers flow down around her cherubic face. From the shoulders down you’d think they were one pretty little girl. Then you’d glance up and be mildly horrified but you’d recover quickly and hide the sheer terror with an uncomfortable smile and a nod, two nods if you were extra polite. The girl(s) butt their stogies and slip under the tent flap, to start the show.

The Allison Sisters are headliners on the Blingum & Barley Traveling Circus Extravaganza; they belt out their hits to rousing raucous applause. The Extravaganza was founded by Willingham Barley and Marcus Blingum three years earlier in 1929; it was the first bi-racially owned Circus Extravaganza, or bi-racially owned Extravaganza of any kind for that matter. Blingum and Barley had been cellmates down South and had escaped with the help of a surprisingly talented chimpanzee named Monkey who now headlines the Tour’s Vaudeville Showcase.

The sisters are introduced by Henry Swirlings, the ringmaster, who’s constantly at risk of losing his job since he’s always heavily sopped with liquor and extremely unenthusiastic about his employers. He swaggers to center ring, belches into his megaphone, and begins the introductions, “Welcome true the Blizzum and Bazzly Trrrling Shircus Extrav-banana! We’ve gort elethings, lions, and people too! Course the elethings are shtupid, the lions are pushies, and the people just shuck. But thangs for the monies anygay, you fuckers!” (He meant to say ‘suckers’ there, but that’s not really any better). After that unpleasantness, Henry stumbles stage right and the Allison Sisters enter to polite applause from the quiet Midwestern townies.

From a shadowy corner of the highrising circus tent, Chippy the Pointskull (to avoid copyright infringement with Zippy the Pinhead) watches his dreamgirl as she sashays about the center ring. Chippy, a Caucasian with a bulbous benign brain tumor, is madly in love with Alison Allison, Alice he doesn’t much care for. He turns around and walks out into the hot Iowan sun, Alison’s voice always brings tears to Chippy’s big dumb eyes and crying hurts his Pinhead, I mean his Pointskull. Chippy looks up into the sun and smiles as his retinas burn. He makes his way to the small tent in behind the three-ring where the other freaks, or the normalcy-challenged, tout their wares and their weirds.

“Oy! Chip!”

Chippy turns with a poo-eating grin towards a corpulent roundish fellow in a cage they call Paul the Wall. Paul, a native of Britton, was not welcoming Chippy; he was simply demanding his tri-hourly snack of fish’n’chips—a dish that sounds a lot better than it looks/tastes/digests. Chippy makes the trek to his cage in the back corner of the tent, locks himself in and begins to gnaw on a hunk of beef jerky his boss had left in the tray next to his stool. He’s wearing a comically-large bowtie and a shirt that’s half-tucked into his far-too-tight corduroys; and as always, he’s barefoot. The Pointskull gnaws happily as he watches Tony Torso roll by on his makeshift skateboard. Tony’s full name is Antonio Domingo Torso, a native of Sicily, who lost his legs fighting for the Italians in the Civil War. Being the only soldier on Italy’s side, he really didn’t stand much of a chance.

Tony rolls out of the tent, past Steve the Almost-Giant as he hoses down the elephants. Circus co-owner Willingham Barley had saved a bundle by purchasing a herd of severely-retarded elephants; most of the time they just thumped their trunks stupidly against their underbellies. Steve the Almost-Giant is nearly six-two which was really rather tall for those times. He smiles and waves at the Italian-American half-man, who would’ve waved back if he wasn’t busy pushing himself towards the Snack Shack.

Edwina, the bearded lady—who is really an obese man with an ample bosom—is working the Shack today.

“What’ll it be Tony?” Edwina asks in a gruff voice. “The Chicken or the Steak?” (S)he wipes chicken grease on the front of her red floral dress/muumuu thing.

“I’ll have-a the usual, pizano” Tony replies in a thick, almost offensive Italian accent. He’s distracted, listening to the noise emanating out of the main showcase tent. The Allison Twins have just wrapped up their show and are walking back to the talent trailer. Tony winks at Alice, who blushes and scurries her sister along into the trailer. Tony turns back to Edwina who’s holding a large hunk of steaming meat on a stick. Cat-kabob, course no one knew it was stray cat meat; that might’ve hurt the sales.

Tony rolls away, cat-kabob lying on the board in front of him, until it’s stomped and Tony is stopped dead in his tracks by a steel-toed cowboy boot. Tony looks up and up and up until he falls off the board and on his back. Towering above him is Willingham Barley, the boss. Wearing a long black overcoat down to his toes and a top hat that makes him look two feet taller, he exudes “Boss.”

“Hello Antonio,” he mutters with a sneering grin. “Lovely day, no?”

Barley picks up the skateboard, turning it over to examine it.

“Interesting contraption you’ve got here.”

He drops it disdainfully. Tony picks himself up and gets back on his board, dusting off.

“Whatsamattayou Barley?”

Willingham begins to walk a small circle around the torsoed-man.

“Times are tight, Antonio. Wallets are thin. Well, not mine of course, but still. This circus must make some sacrifices in order to continue operating. I’ve already had to let some freaks go…”

Tony rolls right up to Will and grabs his pant leg, “I heard about-a the crabby boy. Are you firing me in-a the middle of Iowa, Barley?”

Will shakes free of Tony’s grasp and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe off his once-clean slacks, “Oh no no no, I’d never fire one of my, um, freakiest freaks. But I’m afraid I will have to ask you to take a paycut. Half your salary.”

A camel neighs nearby. Another of Barley’s bargain-basement purchases. Basically just a horse with a hump tied to its back.

Tony nearly chokes on his trampled cat-kabob, “Paycut? Half-a my salary?! What’s this! What for? Why a-me, ah?”

Will chuckles and looks down condescendingly at Tony, “Well, you are only…half a man.”

Tony slams his fists in the dust, “Yeah but I’m-a the good half! This is a-bullshit! This is freak discrimination!”

“Good day Antonio,” Will saunters back to his lavish trailer for a fine Peruvian smoke.

Steve the Almost-Giant picks Tony up and sets him on the back of the lead retarded elephant, “Great day for a parade, eh Tony?”

Steve slaps the elephant on the rear-end and they’re off. Once inside the tent, Tony’s ride stops and the elephants following slam into each other bumper to bumper like a line of fat stupid dominoes. The children cheer as Steve leads Tony and the “elethings” into the center ring to display their finest skill—walking in slow circles. After about five minutes of this to blaring horn fanfare, Steve with great difficulty leads the ‘phants out of the three-ring and back to their pen where they can thump their trunks to their retarded heart’s content.

Next on the dais is Monkey with his amazing one-chimpanzee vaudeville show. He starts it off with a lively tap number, followed by a hilarious comedy routine where he’s carrying far too many bananas, and then he caps it off with a crowd favorite—the flinging of poo into the laughing faces of those lucky enough to snag a first-row seat. He bows deeply as roses are thrown at his feet.

Back at the elephant pen, Steve hears Tony’s problem. “Well by that logic if you get a paycut, I should get a raise.”

“I know, it’s-a baloney. Spicy Italian baloney.”

“Totally, I’m gonna go talk to Blingum about this.”

Moments later Steve returns with a tall grin on his face, “It’s all taken care of.”

Tony grabs Steve’s pant leg excitedly, “You gotta back my shcadole? My gabagool?”

“No, I got a raise!” Steve claps his hands together, teetering on his tippy-toes.

One of the trombonists from the band walks by tuning his instrument, “Wa wa wa waaa.”

Tony rolls away but stops short as a knife lands inches in front of his board. He squints into the sun and sees Allan Sharpe, the knifethrower, waving at him, laughing.

“Sorry Tony!” Allan has never been an expert knifethrower. Most don’t notice, but he has a new partner for every show. The Blingum & Barley Circus has a very good insurance policy. Today’s partner, Sarah Stephens, was a young Iowan orphan who always wanted to be in show business. Unfortunately she joined the circus instead. Next week she will be dearly missed. Right now she’s strapped to the target thirty feet away from Tony, who rolls the knife back to Allan.

“That’s-a nice shot Al. Yousa gettin better.”

“Thanks Tone, sayyy you’re looking taller today.” Allan smiles wryly at his favorite freak.

“Hey I thank-a you kindly, pizano. Yousa good guy!” Tony rolls off happily and Allan turns back to Sarah with fire in his eyes, “Stand still! A couple more practice shots before we go out there.”

He whings one over her right shoulder and it strikes a carney in the jugular. He drops to the ground, blood spurting out onto the Iowan dust, but nobody pays any notice because nobody cares about carneys.

“Shit, do-over!”

Sarah struggles against the restraints, “Hurry up Mr. Sharpe my legs are falling asleep.”

Allan grins wildly, a gleaming dagger in each hand, held high above his head. “Two at once!”

He quickly takes Sarah’s mind off her leg pain with a knife in each palm. She screams in agony but can’t move her hands as they’re now stuck to the board.

Allan snaps his finger, looking glum, “So close.” He calls a couple carneys over to remove Sarah and take her to the medical trailer, which has a line out the door and around the corner, dozens of freaks and normals waiting for treatment. Allan goes searching for another lucky partner.

He bumps into Fred Burroughs coming around the corner of the med trailer. Fred Burroughs blinks, unable to see who he’s bumped into and continues on to the freak tent to prepare for his hour on display. The barker shouts out to the wholesome Midwestern crowd, “Hear ye hear ye step right up! See Fred Burroughs. Behold his shocking visage! Yes, Fred Burroughs, the man with the world’s largest eyebrows!”

Fred is sitting on his stool blinking, squinting through the bushiness crowding his sight. Women and small children are prohibited from entering the tent and the bravest men who do enter end up screaming like women and small children.

A stray cat trots by staring at the crowd of humans; wondering why they would all be hanging out in the Dust Bowl on such a hot damn day. Then she sees Chippy walk by, chuckles, and gets it. A retarded elephant sees the cat, shrieks, and backs up on its hind legs forgetting that elephants are supposed to be scared of mice. The crowd applauds at the incredibly-talented incredibly-special pachyderm. The cat skitters away and slinks past the Snack Shack, reeking of death. Edwina steps out, sees the cat and rushes back in for a knife, but the cat is gone in a flash before he comes back out, realizing Allan stole his last blade.

Marcus Blingum picks up the cat and holds it purring in his arms, petting it, as he walks through the crowd smiling at the little children. Blingum is decked out in the finest crushed velvet suit any Iowans ever seen, topped off with a foxskin cap. Blingum sees Chippy ambling toward him and holds up his hand for a high-five. Chippy swings and misses but smiles nonetheless and Blingum pats him on the back as he passes.

Willingham Barley is waiting outside the freak tent with his arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Late again Marcus.”

Blingum grins broadly and pats Barley’s shoulder, “Chill my pale-ass brotha, it’s a beautiful day in Iowa!”

Barley scowls at Blingum and pushes him out of the way, beaming at a truck pulling a large tank towards them, kicking up dust in its trail.

“She’s here.”

The driver unloads the tank and takes off without a word. The water is murky and Barley smiles as Blingum goes in for a closer look. A face floats to the surface, a beautiful face. I mean by today’s standards she could probably use a nose touch-up, a chin tuck, maybe some eyeliner; but she was good-lookin for the thirties, man. Marcus smiles and tips his hat. She smiles back at the tall dark stranger, turns about-face to swim into the nothing and her bright green tail flashes briefly against the glass.

Blingum takes a step back and Barley chuckles. Blingum takes off his foxskin hat and fans himself with it, “Willingham, what the hell was that?”

Barley pulls out his pocketwatch and checks it, looking out at the dust cloud of a truck on the horizon. “That asshole forgot her luggage. Do you believe that? Friggin parcel industry.”

“Willingham! The lady in the tank.”

Barley snaps back at Blingum, annoyed. “She’s a mermaid you idiot. Cordelia Guinevere Balboa, from a coral reef off the coast of the Canary Islands. I vacationed there last summer, found her while snorkeling and offered her the job. She’s the reason I’m cutting payroll. But she’s worth the sacrifice. She’s perfect.” He stares greedily at the tank.

Blingum gapes at Barley, “Mermaids?! You one crazy white boy. That’s just some broad in a fish suit.”

Barley shakes his head, “I met her father. He had sex with a flounder and she popped out Cordelia.”

Blingum nearly chokes on his cat-kabob, “A flounder?!”

Barley nods, “Yeah I had the same reaction. I mean I’ve always found jellyfish attractive, and dolphins, well, don’t get me started. But flounders? C’mon!”

Blingum drops the cat-kabob, suddenly not so hungry, “Havin sex with fish, man. Now that’s what I call a freak.”

“Oy!”

Blingum glances over to see a vehement Paul the Wall being wheeled by on a heavy-duty dolly. The Wall had always been touchy about that term, feeling it was derogatory.

“Sorry Paul.”

Paul belches juicily before accepting Marcus’ apology. The freaks love Marcus because he treats them with respect. Willingham only sees dollar signs in all those conjoined limbs, clubfoots, Pointskulls, and bushy-bushy eyebrows.

Blingum mulls the tank before him. “So that’s why you let go Lobster Boy last week in Nebraska?”

Barley rolls his eyes, “He wasn’t making us any green. At least the Ringling Bros’ Lobster Boy had deformed lobster-like claws for hands. Our Lobster Boy just danced around with crabs in his perfectly normal human being hands. We couldn’t even afford to get him lobsters!”
Blingum nods, “Yeah I guess he was alittle too literal. But man, you can’t just go around firing every freak so you can hook up with this mermaid. I loved that Lobster Boy, Crab Boy, whatever.”

Barley puts his pocketwatch away, “Speakin of crabs, do you think a mermaid can contract any diseases down there in the murky deep?”
Blingum furrows his brow, “What, that tank? It is pretty dirty. What am I sayin, you aint bangin no fish-woman.”
Barley stomps up and down, “C’monnnn.”
Blingum puts his foot down and points a fat finger in Willingham’s face, “No!”

“Fine!” Barley thumbs his nose at Blingum and leaves.

That night, Cordelia the “mermaid” has climbed out of her tank and snuck into the Allison Sisters trailer to drink some crappy wine and trade gossip. Alison is laughing at Cordelia’s fishtail suit balled up on the ground. “How long till Willingham sees that zipper on your ass?”

Cordelia giggles, “The way this place is run? I think I’m gonna be just fine.”

A sudden jungle roar and a very-human yelp rouse the circusfolk out of their trailers/tents/cages, and they all gather round to see Bobby Gramlich the new lion-tamer failing to tame an extremely grumpy lion.

The cat has Bobby pinned to the dirt and the lion is growling, his nose just inches above Bobby’s face.

“Eew, he’s drooling on me! Someone do something!”

Blingum & Barley bump into each other running out of their respective trailers. The Allisons and Cordelia come up beside them. Swirling climbs out of a horse/camel trough soakin ringin wet, “Whatsallthisabout?” Chippy and Monkey jump up and down clapping excitedly, missing the direness of the situation. Steve wheels Paul and Tony wheels himself to the scene, each with their own respective but not-funny-enough-to-print responses. Edwina stumbles out of the Snack Shack, mouth full of cat. Allan and a bandaged Sarah jump out from behind the Allisons’ trailer, Allan buttoning his fly. And Fred just blinks away, “What’s going on guys?”

Willingham glances at Cordelia, whose forgotten her fishtail inside, and he frowns, “Balboa get back in that tank, you’re gonna get sick breathing this dusty land air.”

Cordelia stares bug-eyed at Willingham Barley and slowly backs her way towards the trailer, shocked he missed the whole mermaids-don’t-have-legs issue.

Bobby is still struggling for help under the lion until Allan Sharpe comes to the rescue. “I got you buddy!”

“It’s Bobby!”

Sharpe arches back, dagger in hand, “I’ll just whing him. Scare the poor bastard.”

The knife hits the lion dead-on in the ear and the poor cat falls to the ground with a thud.

Bobby gets up frustrated, throwing his hands in the air. “Great, that was my last lion! What am I gonna do for tomorrow’s show?”

Blingum snaps his fingers in a Eureka! motion. “I found a cat today! I’ll be right back.”

And the moon rises high over the Iowan plains as the dumbest Circus Extravaganza ever to hit early-twentieth century America settles in for a night of sleep before another day of crappy low-cost entertainment. America sits in agitated frustration, waiting desperately for someone to invent the damn television.