Now for the grand finale extraordinaire: it’s the human-cannonball act, here at the Hemophiliac Circus.
“Attention, ladies and gentlemen of the audience, I regret to inform you that we have a problem,” announces the ringmaster, who is bleeding visibly and profusely: “All the other members of our circus have already died of blood-loss, and I myself am failing fast; thus, there’s no one left to climb into this cannon and get shot through the air for your viewing pleasure.” The announcer then collapses and breathes his last.
So my monkey Tertz now forfeits happiness for commercial entertainment and volunteers to serve as the substitute cannonball.
“Tertz! how magnanimous,” I exclaim, with tear-filled eyes. “I want you to know that you’re my hero — you’re the best personal assistant I’ve ever had. If fate should part us, you will always live on in my memory. Go now: launch yourself, and I’ll try my best to catch you.”
Tertz then scrunches up and slides down the borehole of the cannon, after lighting its fuse; as I run to the far side of the big tent. . . .
Boom: now the cannon explodes. A whizzing rends the air; then, splat. — Tertz is certainly dead, but look: his kidney’s pristine!
So I got my transplant, and Tertz the monkey got his wish; for it was his most heartfelt desire to spend his life in the service of humanity.
Therefore, let us walk in love, as Tertz also hath loved us, and hath given himself for us an offering of organs and a most spectacular sacrifice. [Ephesians 5:2]
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