The Hemophiliac Clowns

Now we buy tickets to see the clown show at the Hemophiliac Circus. “This is going to be awesome,” I remark, as we take our seats. I’m accompanied by my personal assistant Tertz, who is not just a monkey but also an organ donor (I shall soon need him for a kidney transplant).

Tertz loves the clowns: they’re his favorite performance yet. You can tell that he’s enjoying himself, as he keeps laughing kak, kak, kak.

“Oh, Tertz, my little monkey,” I say, “you really like those clowns, don’t you?”

Tertz laughs kak, kak, kak; then he slides down out of his chair and joins the show. The clowns greet him in a friendly fashion and shake his hand. Tertz’ antics cause the clowns to pantomime chuckling, and they do a dance in celebration of their monkey visitor. 

But now the clowns are toppling onto the ground like bowling pins, because Tertz has found his way into the clown-car and is zooming all over the blood-slick’d stage.