Devastating wit

[Rag]

Make a cup of tea, take the phone off the hook, settle yourself down in a comfy chair and relax. Most important of all… don’t blame me.

Ready? Ok, let’s begin.
———-

In a town not too different to the one you live in, in a land not too far away and in a time that wasn’t really that long ago, lived a chap. This chap was renown through out the land. People would come from far and wide just to see him and hear him speak. He wasn’t just anyone… He was the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee.

Sadly this tale isn’t about him. In the same town, in the same land, at almost exactly the same time there was another chap, just a bit younger than the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee. People didn’t come from anywhere to see him, and rarely listened when he spoke… He was the son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee. This is his tale.

The Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee, as his title suggests, was a rather confident, articulate man, with a very quick mind, an extremely good command of the language and a rather dry, cutting sense of humour. Over the years he had become a bit of a hero in the region, known by all and loved by most. Needless to say, his son was rather overshadowed by the sheer presence exuded by his father. Years of standing in his fathers shadow and being bombarded with comments like “Come on then, dazzle us with your wit!”, had steadily eroded any confidence that he had in himself. He had slowly, but surely, become a shy, retiring person with completely inadequate interpersonal skills. All in all he was a bit of a let down.

Anyway, one day the son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee was walking through the town square. He noticed a small, but rapidly growing crowd surrounding a rather imposing figure, listening rapturously to his every word. Gasps and burst of laughter erupted from the crowd as if on cue. The son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee’s heart sank as he instantly recognised one of his fathers’ impromptu audiences. How he wished he could be more like his father. He knew the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee looked upon him with a certain amount of disappointment. He knew he still loved him, but could not shake the memory of the occasions that he caught the mildly disdainful glances, or overheard his Father expressing his sorrow to his Mother. With a heavy heart and a lump in his throat, he went off in search of somewhere quiet that he could wallow in his self-pity without being disturbed. As he went he couldn’t help but notice the people in the street who whispered to each other and sniggered behind their hands as he passed.

He soon found himself in the small glade in the woods just outside town, sitting next to the crystal clear babbling brook. He was very fond of this spot. He was rarely disturbed here, and could see the comings and goings along the nearby road. He sat musing upon his misfortunes for quite some time before he was roused by the sounds of caravans travelling down the road. They were bright colourful affairs, and there were quite a few of them. Intrigued our pitiful hero decided to move closer to the road to see what was going on.

He approached the road just in time to see a man in a brightly coloured outfit finish sticking a poster to a tree and then scurry after the caravans, now disappearing around the bend. The son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee wandered over and began perusing the poster. It said that the Circus had come to town. It would be playing here for a few nights. It boasted Acrobats, Jugglers, Tightrope Walkers, Trapeze Artists, Fire Breathers, some more Acrobats and the star attraction… Bobo the Clown. Bobo was almost as well known in these parts as the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee. He was said to be hilarious; but, as his Circus had not come to town before, the son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee had never seen him.

“That’s exactly what I need,” the son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee said to himself, “something to cheer me up and put a smile on my face. I shall go to the Circus”.

So that night he put on his best going out clothes and went to the circus. He was so looking forward to the evening’s entertainment that he barely noticed the sniggering of the towns’ people he met on the way. And those that he did notice he just didn’t care about.

“I don’t care,” he said to himself, “I may not be as witty or as funny as my father, but tonight I’m going to the Circus. Nothing will upset me.” And on he strolled blissfully unaware that tonight the sniggers had nothing to do with whose son he was, and everything to do with not wearing spots and stripes together. Especially when the spots are that shade of purple and the stripes are that shade of green.

Eventually the long queue of towns’ people filtered into the big top and everyone took their places. The son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee was quite lucky with his seat. Only four rows from the front and his view was not obscured by a tent pole, which is virtually unheard of when going to the circus.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and a drum roll began and the ringmaster leapt through the curtained entrance, bowed to the crowd, and the show began. The acrobats did their acrobatics, the jugglers juggled some outrageous items, the tightrope walkers walked their tightrope, and then just to be flash ran it and then hopped it, the fire breathers breathed huge gouts of flame and some more acrobats did some more, even more outstanding acrobatics. Throughout the crowd roared their appreciation and applauded with gusto.

The acrobats took their final bow and bounced out through the curtained entrance. The crowd became hushed with anticipation. Everyone knew what the next act would be. Mainly because all of the other acts advertised on the poster had already been. The Ring Master walked to the centre, and with a flourish of his cloak, addressed the eager crowd. “And now, what you’ve all been waiting for… The great… The Magnificent BOBO!!!!”

The crowd went wild as a bunch of clowns tumbled through the curtained entrance into the ring. They threw buckets of water over each other, smacked each other with planks and did some hilarious things with fruit.

After several side splitting minutes the other clowns raced back through the curtains (in a wacky, amusing manner of course), leaving a solitary clown standing in the centre of the ring. The Magnificent Bobo. He surveyed the audience for a moment and then started taking the micky. ‘Cor blimey, look at his shirt. It looks like someone has swallowed a Dulux factory and thrown up all over him. I hope you didn’t touch the dog. I love that dog. Talking of dogs, is that your wife, or did she just smell your Cornish pasty and follow you in…’. Several wisecracks later, the crowds were crying with laughter. Bobo was in his element. He worked his way around the crowd picking out obvious wigs, thick glasses and big noses, before progressing onto particularly noticeable laughs and bodily peculiarities. He was merciless with hecklers, to the crowds delight, cutting them down with a subtle blend of wit and cruelty. And then his eyes fell upon the son of the master of sparkling wit and devastating repartee. He thanked God under his breath and then started into a rather personalised tirade aimed directly at our young hero. Needless to say, the young lad was defenceless. He paused only long enough to burst into tear before fleeing from the tent.

He ran howling through the streets until he reached his home, dashed straight up the stairs and threw himself onto his bed. When the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee popped his head through the door to see what the trouble was, he was met with a scene of misery and despair. ‘What troubles you my son?’

The son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee, between sobs, explained what had transpired. The Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee was incensed. ‘Nobody treats my son like that. Tomorrow, my boy, you are going back to the circus. Tomorrow you will face your tormentor. Tomorrow the score shall be settled’, and with that he sat on the bed next to our hero and began coaching him.

The next evening, the son Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee left the house and walked, head held high, to the big top. He ignored the half disguised sniggers and pointing fingers. He had a purpose tonight. He strode through the crowd gathering outside the tent, in through the entrance and took a seat, almost exactly where he had been sitting the night before. The entire audience seemed to be whispering and giggling and pointing. It seemed everyone knew what had occurred last night.

Suddenly the lights dimmed and a drum roll began and the ring master leapt through the curtained entrance, bowed to the crowd, and the show began. Once more the acrobats did their acrobatics, the jugglers juggled some more outrageous items, the tightrope walkers walked their tightrope, and then just to be flash ran it and then hopped it again, the fire breathers breathed huge gouts of flame and some more acrobats did some more, even more outstanding acrobatics. Throughout, the crowd roared their appreciation and applauded with gusto. All except for the son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee. It was all he could do to stop himself from bolting and escaping the ridicule he knew was fast approaching.

The acrobats took their final bow and bounced out through the curtained entrance. The crowd became hushed with anticipation. Everyone knew what the next act would be. And many a glance of anticipation was thrown towards the boy. The Ring Master walked to the centre, and with a flourish of his cloak, addressed the eager crowd. “And now, what you’ve all been waiting for… The great… The Magnificent BOBO!!!!”

The crowd went wild as a bunch of clowns tumbled through the curtained entrance into the ring. They threw buckets of water over each other, smacked each other with planks and did some hilarious things with fruit. A sense of mild panic began to sweep over our hero.

After several side splitting minutes the other clowns raced back through the curtains (in a wacky, amusing manner of course), leaving a solitary clown standing in the centre of the ring. The Magnificent Bobo. He surveyed the audience for a moment and then started taking the micky. ‘Cor blimey, look at his haircut. What a mess. You never heard of a barbers? Looks like you mugged the Dulux dog for his fringe. I hope you didn’t touch the dog. I love that dog. Talking of fringes… The Edinburg Festival. What’s that all about? A bunch of social inadequates making insightful about there mother in laws. GET A JOB…’. Several wisecracks later, the crowds were crying with laughter. Bobo was in his element. He worked his way around the crowd picking out embarrassing facial hair, dodgy hats and big ears, before progressing onto particularly noticeable speech impediments and fashion senses. As usual he was merciless with hecklers, to the crowds delight, cutting them down with a subtle blend of cruelty and wit. And then his eyes fell upon the son of the master of sparkling wit and devastating repartee. Bobo’s jaw dropped. He could not believe his luck. A broad, malicious grin spread slowly across his face. The son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee saw the clown mouth the words ‘Hello again’. And then it began. This time Bobo was more personal, more cutting, more cynical and much, much meaner. Every time the son of the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee tried to come back with one of his fathers well rehearsed put downs, Bobo simply turned up the volume, the pace and the nastiness. After nearly 10 minutes the boy had had enough. As the tears started to well up and he started to rise, he felt a hand on his shoulder, that gently pushed him back down into his seat. He turned to see a figure, completely hidden in a hooded cloak sitting in the row behind him. The figure slowly stood. A hush fell over the crowd. The figure reached up for the front of his hood. Bobo, sensing that something was not quite right, began glancing around, starting to feel a bit unsure of himself. The figure slid the hood back… It was the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee.

The crowd gasped and the murmur began to flash around the audience ‘It’s the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee!’. Bobo saw the expression on the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee’s face and became visibly paler, a neat trick when you’re wearing that much face paint. He stammered and mumbled what one can only assume was halfway between an apology and a lame excuse, as he began to edge slowly towards the edge of the ring and the exit. The boy looked around, not really understanding what was going on, it had all happened so fast. All around him the audience passed comments to and fro.

‘That Bobo’s for it now’, ‘He was a bit heavy on the boy last night’, ‘Ooh, I wouldn’t like to be in Bobo’s shoes now’, ‘Can I have another toffee apple mum’, ‘Shh, he’s going to say something…’

The Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee drew himself up to his full height. The crowd gasped. He pointed towards the stricken Bobo. A hush fell over the crowd, all were straining to hear what the Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee would say. What cutting comment, what crushing putdown would that razor sharp intellect hurl across the big top. The Master of Sparkling Wit and Devastating Repartee opened his mouth, drew in a deep breath, and spoke in a deep, clear, resonant voice. ‘**** off you red nosed cult!’

At least I think he said cult.

Fin.

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