About a Clown

"Rog!", shouted Jimbo


"Well, what do you think we're doing?"

Rog put down the rock that was scorching his skeletal hand, and looked back impatiently.  He had been almost mid leap and the though of actually bashing in something's head had stirred up fond memories he hadn't felt in eons.

"It's just Rog, it's just..."

"It's just what Jimbo, it's a little late for a conscience, isn't it?"

Jimbo scratched his ear off, and looked at Rog with a thoughtful expression.  Rog looked at him, annoyed.

"What, Jimbo?  What?"

"Well, have you ever seen the Big D?"


"What if the clown is the Big D?"

Rog stared at him with one sunken eyesocket.

"I'm serious, Rog.  What if he's the Big D?"

"And then, what would happen, Jimbo?"

Rog looked around and threw the rock to the ground in disgust.  The clown was gone and they were alone in sea of crimson dust.   Rog wiped some skin that was dripping into his eye and looked at Jimbo with feigned patience.

"You, know. Jimbo, we're in Hell.  HELL.  Remember?  Hell is the one place where you want to start mugging clowns.  If the clown had tripped and we had helped him find his little parasol, then, maybe the Big D would have something to say."

"I think we should get back to work."

"No, you know what?  I don't, Jimbo.  You should get back to work.  I'm getting the hell out of here."

"Getting out of here?"

"Yes.  The way I see it there are two planes down or seven up"

"I'll take the seven up, Rog!  Cuz I'm thirsty!".  Jimbo made an air of sucking back an invisible soft drink and tried to wink without eyelids.

"Jimbo, shut up and hand me my shoulder.  I'm outta here"

"Are you sure, Rog?  C'mon, get your pick axe.  Rog?  Where ya goin'"

The End

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