Chuckles was a bit of a newcomer to this particular circus, though many can reasonably argue his life has always been a joke. Albeit a rich joke. He was a clown.
He joined a well seasoned Grins. More of a comedian than a clown. His grin perhaps bespoke of amusement, but in reality was more of a sardonic mocking rictus. This became apparent once the plans and punitive machinations his odious thoughts were conjuring came to light. Everyone was going to pay for not giving him his due sooner.
Guffaws was a different beastie all together. Having been at this circus game longer than any of the others. He had developed an emotional shell into which he would withdraw at the first sign of trouble. Lugging this shell with him as the Ringmaster of this dysfunctional circus had taught him to run the show at a tortoise pace and excel at getting nothing done while bringing nary an attraction to this three ringed circus.
It had been so long between acts that the audience took their leave and were demanding the price of admission back. Leaving only the black robed ticket punchers to deny the validity of the public clamor. The three performers now opined that the townspeople, which surrounded and outnumbered them, no longer even wanted to see their show.
But the show must go on.
So Chuckles, Grins, and Guffaws worked late into the night to hatch a plan. Together they made enough noise to keep the wolves awake. Packs of these voracious hungry predators descended on the townsfolk and ate them all up solving the three circus performers problems and making all their dreams all come true. Thus leaving Chuckles, Grins, and Guffaws to do what they do best.
Except for Chuckles who blathered endlessly about his circus being The Greatest Show On Earth.
Back in the days of irrational exuberance and before all your Spondulix was online and downloadable; Intuit came along with a little ditty called Quicken. Since we were young and the internets were dumb much of the accounts, spending, and bills required data entry rather than syncing with obtuse and arcane file formats from various financial institutions. Cash transactions required a receipt.
But since the household was hemorrhaging money, as all good job creating consumer households should, it was necessary to spend Saturday mornings trying to balance and track what was going where and why. It became clear that the only thing quick about this process was how it quickened the ex out the door weekend mornings due to the inevitable discovery of numerous and unmentioned charges that would miraculously appear on the snail mailed paper statements.
Recriminations and many a ruined weekend followed.
At the time the only thing Quicken quickened was a trip to divorce court and understanding of the quick bunny trail to financial ruin.
Now that everyone across the globe can pick your pocket with nary a reach around or how do you do, Quicken has fulfilled the catchy name’s promise.
But the question still remains. “Do you have a receipt for that?”
I know I remember getting an annual physical where the provider would listen to my heart, look down my throat, in my ears, and in my eyes. Instead I get the back of a head looking at a list of things on a computer that have been prescribed for me to swallow; with out ever listening to my heart, looking down my throat, in my ears, and in my eyes by their predecessor a year ago who has now moved on to greener pastures
This all after a gruff and unceremonious greeting of, “Why are you here.”
No concern for what concerns me but a strange obsession about one thing that has to do with:
That being, why haven’t I gone and gotten a camera up my keyster as the predecessor had referred me to do.
I know. I know. Research shows that research is right about doing this at a certain age. Never mind there are not now, nor ever been any issues for me while taking a:
But as a layman I am comfortable in the knowledge that on the whole most of us know:
While those that are sure that they know all there is to know about a thing with out listening to the heart, looking down the throat, in the ears, and in the eyes truly do know:
Folly is such a fun word. I mean who doesn’t enjoy a spirited game of Folly Ball. Looking forward to having a Folly Folly Christmas this year with Folly Ole St Nick.
St. Nick uses reindeer power as opposed to Fulton’s Folly which ushered in the age of our Fossil Fuel Folly of believing there is an infinite supply of things to burn on our decidedly and well mapped finite planet. What’s done is done but we are only follying ourselves thinking otherwise.
Of course McCain’s Folly (a.k.a. matriarch of the one time first family of Seward’s Folly) does not believe in such things, nor other things from her progeny’s prodigious folly of taking “Cheaper By The Dozen” as a guide to Folly Planning.
So in life one mans folly is another mans floor, and where there is folly there is money to be made. It is no folly to think that someone is making folding folly somewhere off of our Founding Fathers Folly’s and Foibles. The ofttimes suspected , never directly addressed Electoral Folly.
In closing allow me to digress to youthful budding folly becoming full bloom folly. As a young man at the office Folliday Party I learned of a particular moral weakness I have. Blow in my ear and I’ll folly you anywhere. She did, I did, and Holiday Folliness Abounded. Apparently I am not alone in my countrymen and women in my susceptibility to melting into a puddle of folly after getting my ear blown.
So as we Deck the halls with boughs of Folly lets all sing together….