23 Circus Midgets All in a Row: A Mime Crime - Part 1 (Comedy Open Mic Round #18)

Hi everyone! I'm honored for you to read my very first entry into the Comedy Open Mic contests! I'm sure you'll enjoy reading the start to what shall be an ongoing, instant classic for anyone who likes exciting and funny stories. Ok, I'm not really that confident, but if it helps me win then I'm going to go all out.

I'm nominating @juliakponsford and @torico to round out my rule-abiding.

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*Modified from This free Source

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23 Circus Midgets All in a Row: A Mime Crime - Part 1

There you are! I was wondering when you were going to pop up to watch the goings-on. You, as Dispatch, should always be watching your Console Display.

Thunderous applause echoed, guffaws and chuckles speckled throughout. The lights dimmed and the entire lot of face-painted Circus Midgets shoved their way into the tiny Volkswagen Beetle. Yellow paint was flaking off and it needed a new bumper, but other than that it was roomy enough for twenty-three pint-sized clowns. They could even fit their water hose and bucket inside.

Now, it could be that this car was special. It could also be that these Circus folk were special. The truth is, both of these groups were special.

Chuckles wiped the sweat off his face and pushed down his purple mop of hair. “Pilot to Gertrude! Come in, Gerty!”

The little VW speaker hummed in time with the engine as the group spun circles in the Center Ring. The Ringmaster hooped and hollered as the car turned this way and that, seven different heads sticking out of seven different openings in the car. Air horns and confetti poppers and buckets of sawdust were in full display. The crowd loved it, especially the children.

An angry voice answers. “Gertrude Standoffish here.”

You know this person, she sits about three cubicles down from you at the Institute. She’s always angry. Back to the Display! Stop peeking over and trying to see Gerty! You slink down in your seat and watch your own monitor.

Chuckles never laughed. His face was a mockery with it’s great-big smile. “Gerty, it’s clear here. We’ve got the Timepiece. Be back in fifteen.”

“Swept and cleared.”

Hey, are you snoring? Stop it! You could get fired that way! Get back to the display and press some buttons… if I don’t get to nap while telling this story, then you don’t either! I’ll have your badge for it! Always wanted to say that… check that off my Bucket List. You turn yourself about in your chair, muttering some choice words, and return to the Display Screen.

The dimly-lit Big Top shone for a moment as the Clown Car zipped around in a circle before blinking out of existence. The crowds gasped momentarily and were gone as the Display feed faded to black.

Now, since you’re new here, you haven’t been through this yet. You need to press the big Red Nose in the center of the console and turn the whirly-gig. Search for Port-o-Pod E and that will re-center the image. Yep, that’s it. No, back a bit. There we go, you’re doing great. Decrease the fuzziness with the wig-a-ma-jig. You can laugh, we all do when we first get to use the wig-a-ma-jig. Don’t make a big scene, though.

The image clears up on the Display Console and you feel pretty proud of yourself. Now you can even tune it to the Present. You can see that it’s just a huge Parking Lot. There are some traffic cones and some cement barrier blocks and walls and a little Attendant space with a Porta-Potty next to it.

You watch as the Porta-Potty’s dial turns from “Occupied” red to “Vacant” green. The door swings open and you can see the Clown Car’s bumper trying to stick out. All of a sudden a line of Circus Midgets files out.

Purple-haired Chuckles, all frowns behind the painted-on smile. A large flower seems to wink from his polka-dotted suspenders. His floppy red shoes smack a beat on the ground. As the Midgets trundle out of the Porta-Potty and down the ramp to the lift, you can hear the beat echoed by 19 other shoes ranging from green to blue to a rainbow of hues. The slapping of bare feet also keeps time as a trio of back-country circus midgets are nestled within the line.

Low chanting keeps rhythm. “Don-Don-da-nah-na-nah, Don-Don-da-na-nah; Don-Don-da-nah-na-nah, Don-Don-da-na-nah; Don-da-na-nahn-Don; Don-da-na-nahn-Don; Deener-eener-eener-neener.”

Chuckles stops and the chant stops. One-after-another, the following Midgets biff into the one ahead and knock Chuckles to the ground. Face in the pavement, he seems a ticking time-bomb.

You can hear one of the Nameless Seven at the rear of the pile-up. “Where IS that coming from?”

Another of the Nameless Seven responds. “Surely you know, don’t you?”

Shirley, annoyed already, answers. “No. I do NOT know!” She dusts herself off as the others pop to their feet like the Trouble Pop-a-Matic Bubble. “I wish you would stop asking me that.”

Dusted off, the line continues up the ramp to the lift at the top of the incline. Of course the ride up was a long one as each Midget had to press a button. All the buttons were lit and the entire crew was squished together.

Honk! Ka-zoink! Whirrrrrrrrr!

“Get off-a me!”

“Ouch!”

“Bob, move your legs and you wouldn’t get hurt!”

“Soooo sorry.”

Ooof! Zzzzzzzzzzzzip! Wah-wah-wah-wah!

“Oops, that’s my flower.”

When the lift arrives at the uppermost platform a good five minutes later -- as it had to ding to a stop at each floor -- a pile of squat, soaked, colorful people spilled out of the tin box. Unfortunately, there was also a pair of Field Agents with unamused expressions tripping over the landslide of midgets.

Sheesh. You are going to have some issues if you can’t stop laughing at every little thing you see. To think, not more than an hour ago you were falling asleep and now you’re crying from amusement.

You gasp to calm down. “But look at those Field Agents! They’re sooooo not amused. It’s hilarious!”

Pull it together! Sit up! Breathe and calm yourself. Now. On to… oh boy, you couldn’t even hold it together for five seconds could you? I don’t know what I’m going to do with you. Shhhh, you’re drawing attention! After a bit, you are finally able to calm down and look back at the monitor.

Ok, now that you are ready, I will introduce you to them. No, not in person! They’re too important for the likes of you. You do realize that they just stopped a Cross-Time Crime Syndicate, don’t you? No?? It’s posted ALL OVER the office! Don’t make me smack you senseless. Back to the task at hand.

The leader is Chuckles. Amusing fellow, if you liked Grumpy from Disney’s version of Snow White, that is. He’s the leader of the troupe. Watch out for the Cane and Flower, they’re weaponized.

Next in line is Zippy with the green hair… yes, I know, ironic name for such a slow-poke. He may be slow, but he can spin that orange derby fast as anything.

Then there’s Shirley. She’s the only girl in the crew, so she’s a bit touchy about it at times -- like all the times. She’s the explosives expert, so I’d be super-nice to her or you might find a stink bomb in your lunchbox.

Whiner’s the shorty over there. He’s basically stuck as a perpetual baby. Annoying as hell, if you ask me.

The Bumpkin Triplets are the bare-foot trio that are passing now. Billy Bob is the one with the belt buckle the size of Delaware. Yeah, isn’t it large? Twangy is the banjolier of the group. I know it’s not really a word, but it gets the point across, doesn’t it? Now, stop interrupting. Hobunk is last. He seems to think he’s John Wayne.

The next four are quadruplets. Perky is just too perky all the time. Watch Perky and you’ll probably see him beat on multiple times a day. Worky is next. He’s a sling-shot master and is never relaxed. Jerky. Need I say more? You can see the blood-shot eyes, right? Murky is last. You thought a John Wayne wannabe was bad? Murky adores Humphrey Bogart and cigars… just don’t accept a cigar from him and you’ll be fine.

Here come Hot Foot, Skedaddle & Vamoose. They’re unrelated, but they all seem to be the same person cloned, if you ask me. I think they’re a scientific experiment gone wrong. Scared of everything. I once even saw Skedaddle trying to run away from his own shadow. Funny as hell watching him run in circles.

We’re almost through, don’t glaze over yet. The next seven are called the Nameless Seven. They’re basically just extras. Comedy relief. Humorous interludes and the like. They’re the archers of the group.

They may actually just be afraid of Ka-Boom! He’s the next one. Not much more definition needed. Things go Boom when Ka-Boom is in the room.

Yes, you can stop laughing now, that’s some normal dude that thinks he’s a Circus Midget. Yes! He’s wearing shoes on his knees! Here, have a tissue and wipe your eyes. His name is Bob. Oh, and there you go, I think I killed you with his name.

So it’s Chuckles, Zippy, Shirley, the Bumpkin Triplets, the -urkies, the Chickens, Ka-Boom, and… Bob.

You watch as the group skips and hops and, in Chuckles’ case sort of harrumphs along, weaving between cubicles on the uppermost floor. Some of the reps pat their backs and some offer congratulations, but for the most part it’s just all business.

Chuckles motions them to stop. Bump-bump-bump-bump-bump-bumpbumpbumpbump. His face, again, is on the floor. You can almost see the steam shooting from his reddened ears. The group scrambles up again, dusts themselves off.

Low chanting begins. “Don-Don-da-nah-na-nah, Don-Don-da-na-nah; Don-Don-da-nah-na-nah, Don-Don-da-na-nah; Don-da-na-nahn-Don; Don-da-na-nahn-Don; Deener-eener-eener-neener.”

You can hear one of the Nameless Seven at the rear of the pile-up. “Where IS that coming from?”

Another of the Nameless Seven responds. “Surely you know, don’t you?”

Shirley, seething, answers. “No. I do NOT know!” She swings a fierce gaze along the line. “I wish you would stop asking me that.”

Bob, in a half-hushed whisper, interjects. “Ok, let’s all stay calm.”

Suddenly a small object bounces into view. A jet of blue-gray smoke and then there’s a panicked set of voices all shouting “Stink Bomb!! Ewwww!”

You watch a few of the panic-stricken Reps and Field Agents at their desks. The ceiling tiles flip down and a face mask, like airline oxygen masks, fall down. Frenzied hands pull the masks close.

The line of Circus Midgets, all in disarray now, are plowing forward against a tall, metal-banded door. Bumps and smacks echo as little fists pound on the door. A moment later and the door splits down the middle and draws inward. The forward momentum pushes all of the midgets forward onto the floor of the Chambers beyond. Hands and feet wriggle free. Bob rolls off the pile first, adjusting his knee-shoes. Then, one-by-one, the others roll away and take up spots on either side of Chuckles.

A voice from the other side of the door calls them forward. “You are needed already.”

Chuckles answers. “Sir?”

Why can’t you see in? Because that’s our leader. Nobody except Field Agents get to meet the Man in the Moon. No, really, he’s the Man in the Moon. Ok, don’t believe me. You’ll see… or maybe not.

“Chuckles. The Mad, Mad Mage is up to no good again and we need the Troupe to defeat him.”

“We are on the job, Sir. What is he up to this time?”

The voice hesitates. “He is trying to destroy all Mimes, Past, Present and Future. Here is the Manifesto.”

Shirley pipes up. “Uh, sir, this is just a sheet of paper that says ‘A Mime is a Terrible Thing to Waste’. Do we have anything else to go on?”

The growl was angry. There was a shifting of white-light behind the doors. The Circus Midgets fell back, shielding their eyes.

Yes, they’re hairier. Yes, fangs and tails. Again, yes, they ARE Werewolves. No, this IS NOT a sequel to the Twilight series. Shhhh.

The group howled. “Awooooooooo.”

The light faded and the voice reasserted itself. “Good, now that I have your attention. Stop licking your butt, Billy Bob. I don’t care if you have fleas. Now, as I was saying, the Mad, Mad Mage. He’s influenced some others to join his cause. Our latest intel tells us he was last spotted in 1822 near London.”

The Circus Midgets were slowly returning to their normal form. Chuckles acknowledged the mission and then they were off again. The train of tiny people -- and Bob -- only collapsed into a pile one more time on their way out.

The hall. The lift. Every floor. Again.

Down the pavement to the Porta-Pod E the troupe marched. They all ducked into the little VW Beetle, half-hidden from view. The door closed and the signage changed to “Occupied” red. You can hear a deep flushing sound and the door returns to “Vacant” green, popping open to show an empty stall.

Now go take your break. You’ll need it if you have any hope of following them through their mission. Yes, I think we made the people laugh. No, you don’t get paid today. Yes, I’ll share your pizza. Oh, fine, then I WON’T share your pizza.

(To Be Continued…)

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Thank you for reading!

This story is an @OriginalWork of fiction, conceived and written by @dbzfan4awhile.