Tuesday, August 29, 2006

A lament for Darp

The tables strained ‘neath loaded platters and all manner of gastronomic delights enticed the party goers. Liquor flowed. Exotic meats smoked enticingly on the barbie. “Send in the clown!” sang the minstrel, clutching his lute and an ice cold ale but he was nowhere to be found, poor, sad little clown. He had promised the kiddies a circus and, excited at the prospect, they had flocked from all corners of this wide brown land to behold the wondrous talents of this legendary and most gifted of jesters.

But tragically he let them down. His bright baubles, his precious silver eggs, had been lost, feared stolen, and he refused to appear without them, essential as they are to his act. He felt incomplete and emasculated, stripped of his steely spheres he was not even half the clown he used to be. He was last seen on Sunday afternoon sharing a taxi with Krusty as they headed for Uncle Mick’s fortified bunker, mayhap to seek sagely legal advice but more likely for tea and sympathy.

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