THE ENEMY OF MIME ENEMY IS MIME FRIEND
A very true story by Dave Caswell about Dave Caswell
One of Dave Caswell’s favorite pastimes, is people watching. Not in a creepy, ‘one hand down the front of the pants, the other holding a pair of binoculars’ kind of way. Just good cheap, story building fun using people as subjects who never suspect otherwise. Sit back and relax. Let the imagination take the wheel and the possibilities are endless.
It’s aaaall part of the show.
It was a crisp Tuesday in September. Not quite cold, but not hot. Just crisp. Dave was enjoying his lunch break at a park he had discovered near his place of work. Sitting on a bench, sipping an Arnold Palmer half and half, he quietly observed the sorts that littered the park on this pleasant afternoon.
Then, he saw the mime.
Shit.
For some unexplained reason, Dave had always been terrified of entertainers that have a character to stick to or mask to hide behind. Mimes, mascots, clowns, and magicians. They all gave him the willies. It was most likely due to the fact that no matter what you try to do, if they’re near you, that are going to interact with you.
The mime was a girl. Rather, a woman, thin and slender with the right curves in the right of enough places to make any guy, in his most honest of states, crown her the title of, “slamming”. The makeup, striped shirt, black pants, and beret however, worked to her detriment. Sexiness cannot mask mimeyness.
He thought about bolting. Dave was a hefty sort of guy, but his stubby legs could get moving pretty quick over an open amount of ground, much like the majestic grizzly bear. but then something even worse happened. Two more mimes appeared from behind two trees on either side of the first mime.
To her left was a mime who’s striped shirt looked as if it were clinging on to him for dear life. His huge upper torso was almost cartoonish when compared to his legs. That’s why you never skip leg day, you goddamn jamoke. To the left of Sexy Mime, was a tall, thin, lanky mime. His features were freakishly alien like in that his arms and legs seemed unnaturally long and his head, too damn… weird.
Sexy Mime, Muscle Mime, and Stick Mime all rode into the park on what Dave surmised were imaginary bicycles. Once at the center of the grassy quad that the benches enclosed, they dismounted from their invisible bikes, pushed out their kickstands, and examined the area.
Shit, shit, shit.
Dave sat frozen in a state unrelenting fear. If he moved now, the mimes would surely see him. Perhaps their vision is based on motion like a T-Rex? It didn’t matter. They were either going to interact with him or they weren’t. Nothing, not even running at full speed, would stop that. After all… they had imaginary bikes.
To his slight relief, the mimes split apart and began to entertain the other park goers. All of the mime classics came tumbling out of their, hypothetical and yet still imaginary, bag of tricks. The invisible rope pull, the trapped in the invisible box gag, and walking the invisible dog. After a few moments of the corny mime gimmicks and the laughter of the audience drifting into his ears, Dave began to relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all? It’s not everyday you get a show when you’re people watching. So, he sat back against the bench and watched. Hey it could be worse. It could have been…
And then it got worse.
A small yellow car, covered in pink polka dots was creeping down the pathway; A silently flamboyant predator happening upon easy prey at a watering hole. The word exploded so intensely in Dave’s mind that he couldn’t keep himself from squeaking it out of his mouth.
“Clowns.”
The doors opened, and they were tumbling out as if queued by his horrifying revelation. One, two, three, four, FIVE of them! All tumbling out of a car that Dave alone would have been uncomfortable in. They somersaulted, twirled, and danced, honking horns, and giggling like children. This time, the delightful laughter of the park audience did not ease Dave’s panic.
The clowns had drawn everyone’s attention now. More and more of a crowd had begun to gather as people who were strolling past to see what the happy commotion was. The mimes noticed too, and they didn’t seem pleased that the clowns had started to steal the show. The Sexy Mime perched her hands on her hips, pursed her face into a scowl, and strode up to one of the clowns. She slapped the clown the back and it turned around slowly.
Sexy Mime, looked it up and down and then stomped her foot, pointing toward the clown car. The clown followed her gesture, smiled, and looked back. It reached into its pocket and pulled out a bouquet of flowers. The clown giggled and handed it to her. Sexy Mime took it, looking it over. After a moment, she regained her senses, shook her head, and pointed again back toward the car.
Now the clowns laughter was getting faster and louder. It became an all out lunatic cackle. Sexy Mime suddenly looked down at the bouquet. Whisps of smoke were curling up from the center of t and the flowers were rapidly wilting. At the last second, she tossed it up, and dove back. The bouquet exploded in a plume of dark, inky smoke between them.
Before Sexy Mime had time to recover, a punching glove at the end of an extendable lattice sprang through the smoke and caught her squarely in the face. The glove retracted back to the clown as it walked through the smoke. It tucked the contraption away, laughing all the while
Muscle Mime was on the clown in a flash. The silent hulk grabbed the clown by its shoulders and tossed it aside. It squeaked each time it bounced across the grass. Another clown was drawing in on them but the Muscle Mime quickly drew what appeared to be an imaginary shotgun, cocked it, and leveled it at the creature. The clown slowly started to drop its hand toward the grip of a squirt gun tucked in one of its pockets. Muscle Mime shook his head at the clown, letting it know he meant business but the clown kept going. Then, it moved with incredible speed, grabbing the squirt gun and drawing. It wasn’t fast enough for Muscle Mime however. He pulled the trigger, and the imaginary gun jerked back.
Before now, the crowd had watched in delight as they thought the clowns and the mimes were working together in the same act. It took until squirt gun clown’s chest erupted into a bloody mess that they realized something wasn’t quite right. The clowns guts hit the ground before its corpse did. The audience shrank back in horror at this, screaming, trying to push past one another to get away. It was also at this point that the fight went berzerk.
Sexy Mime was up, and squaring up with the punching glove clown again. It drew a balloon sword, tilted its head back, roared with laughter, and charged her. She drew an imaginary sword and parried the blow. There was a spark between the balloon and empty air, punctuated with a rubber balloon squeak.
Punching glove clown was an animal. A brawler. It swung fast and hard, but inaccurately. Sexy Mime was trained. She had form. She sidestepped each balloon sword blow, glancing the air-filled rubber blade away with her imaginary one, but not finding an offensive opportunity. It was a fight between accurate speedy finesse and blunt force trauma.
Beyond her, Stick Mime had drawn two imaginary handguns and was squeezing off nothing rounds at the two clowns closest to him. One had barely even turned to see the action before he was being mowed down by imaginary bullets. The other was attempting to draw a balloon gun but the bullets ripped through both the balloon and the clowns, stupid, multi colored suit.
Stick mime strode toward the dying clown to finish him off. He pointed the invisible pistol down and winked at the painted nightmare that coiled and writhed in pain on the ground. The clown made a choking sound, coughed up some bloody chunks, and then giggled. It touched the huge, oversized flower on its lapel and a stream of liquid shot out, hitting Stick Mime right between the eyes. Grabbing at his face, he fired wildly down at the creature, striking it several times and sending it back to hell where it belonged. Stick Mime pulled his hand away, and with it, his face.
Noxious fumes rolled away to reveal a bloody, skeletal face. Lidless eyes seemed to roll back and forth as Stick Mime pulled away acidic clumps of flesh that had previously been his painted face. At last, his eyes rolled back and his body went slack. Without ever having made a noise, he flopped lifelessly to the ground.
Muscle Mime was hammering the butt of his invisible shotgun down again and again on a bloody puddle of bone and wig that had previously been the head of a clown. He looked up and saw his friend, Stick Mime, first pull his face off and then drop dead. His mouth opened into a silent scream. He sprinted toward Stick Mime’s body.
Sexy Mime and Punching Glove Clown had stopped fighting for a moment, distracted by the stomach churning death of Stick Mime. As Muscle Mime ran past, Punching Glove Clown saw it’s opportunity and took it. The balloon sword swished through the air with incredible speed and slid across Muscle Mime’s enormous body.
The Muscle Mime’s huge upper torso fell back, his tiny legs and waist line continuing to run. A strand of intestines unfurled along the distance the legs has put between the torso. Just before reaching Stick Mime’s body, the intestine went taught, and the legs were yanked back a fort or so.
At this, Punching Bag Clown lost it. The creature howled with laughter. Sexy Mime whirled on it with the imaginary sword while it’s guard was down. The clown’s hand, with the balloon sword still clasped in it, separated at the wrist with a faint whisper. The clown screamed and began to back away. It made a sound that was half whimper, half chuckle as it grabbed its bleeding stump. Sexy Mime pointed the sword at it.
Out of nowhere, a female runner deep in the zone at a full title pace with headphones jammed into her ears came running into the area. Before she had time to realize what was happening, the clown was on her. It twisted her around and used her like a human shield. The mime drew back slightly. The clown’s cackle regained some of it’s previous confidence. Unfortunately for the clown, it had picked the worst kind of victim. A physically in-shape victim.
Ladyrun Inshapeyface put an elbow into the clown’s gut. It doubled over and she stepped out of it’s grasp. Instead of just running, she turned and rammed the heel of her palm into the clown’s huge red nose. HONK. The clown went ass over end.
The girl bolted, not interested in sticking around to see what the hell was going on apparently; Dave didn’t blame her. The clown, rolled over, saw that she was gone and looked around the park. It locked it’s beady little eyes on its only hope for salvation. A lone onlooker.
Paralyzed by fear, Dave was the only one still in the park that had not run. He sat on the bench, trembling in terrified awe of the macabre display of which he was about to become part of. The clown sprang to its knees, then to it’s feet, and began sprinting toward him. It’s huge shoes thumped against the grass and it grunted out each breath as is got closer and closer to Dave.
“No. No. NO. NO!” was all Dave could muster.
Just before the clown was able to reach out it’s white gloved claws, it’s back exploded open, throwing ropes of blood and bits of clown meat out behind it The creature went limp, starting with it’s legs. It went to it’s knees, skidded a few more inches and face planted right at Dave’s feet. Ten or so feet beyond, Sexy Mime was pointing what could only have been Muscle Mime’s invisible shotgun right at where the clown had just been
Dave was nearly at the point of hyperventilation now. He gawked at the multi colored, polka-dotted, and pin striped carcass at his feet, looking into it’s exposed back cavity. As she walked up to him, she dripped the shotgun; a visible shotgun shape was suddenly imprinted in the grass. She came to a stop over the clown’s body and drew some sort of imaginary blade. She bent down and began sawing at the clowns neck.
There was squishy ripping sound as she went about her work. After a second or two, she gave the clown’s wig a sharp set of tugs and wrenched it’s head free of the body. She held the head level to her own, examined it, and then casually tossed it into Dave’s lap.
“Oh…wow! Yeah, that’s a uh… that’s a uh… that’s a head, alright,” he stuttered out.
He felt his lunch bang on the front door. It wanted out the way it had come back in.
“I… I… I…”
Dave looked up at the mime. She put her fingers to her lips and leaned in close. He thought he heard a “shhhh”, but it was all in his mind. The mime removed the finger from her lips, reached down, and tapped the clown’s head. When Dave looked down however, it was no longer a head. It was a tin can with “Tips” written on the side of it.
He blinked a couple of times and shook his head, not sure if what he was seeing now or what it had replaced was the trick. It was still a tip can. He looked up and around. The park was as it had been right when the mime had first shown up. There were no bodies, clown or mime. No blood… no nothing.
She crossed her arms and started tapping her foot impatiently. Scared by his inability to understand what was happening, he shakily removed a five-spot from his wallet and crushed it down into the can. The mime swooped it out of his hand and gave a little bow. She winked at him and wandered off into the park, looking for her next audience. Her next performance.
Aaaaall part of the show.
END
