from Buskers...
(from Smirks & Sneers)
Since the incident, Roger had continuously been forced
to defend the show’s value against claims that it had promoted
violence against women. He found himself endlessly repeating, “That is
so not violence against women!” he’d snicker. “That’s
violence against an inflatable doll!” But although he had seemingly
offended a huge block of the local population, Roger thought it was just
about the funniest thing he had
seen in his fucking life. It was precisely that it was so wrong that made it just so
fucking funny. That was
what got him off. And he wasn’t alone. Kids on the bus had recognized
him. “Dude, you’re Roger, man! We fucking love you!” A group of
teenagers from the projects also stopped him on the street. “Yo, yo,
yo you’re that motherfucker on TV. Yo man, you’re funny!” The
attention was so cool. And he loved that he was getting it for making
people laugh.
Roger had fancied himself a comedian before, and from
time to time had even performed on open mike night at the comedy club
Catch a Rising Star, where he worked for a short time. He liked that he
could get up there and open his mouth and let all
the sick shit come out.
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also from Buskers...
(from Passim)
Once he had selected a young man to be the other lover
and seated him, instructing him to look equally forlorn, next to the girl
on the now-struggling bench, Aveson would pick the final volunteer, who
would act as the “spirit of springtime.” He inevitably chose the
straightest looking audience member he thought he’d be able to coerce
into the role, which was to entail prancing around the circle wearing a
garland of flowers while pulling behind him two long, thin ribbons. Aveson
enjoyed demonstrating, making his example extra-effeminate so that no
matter how well the volunteer chose to imitate him, it would produce a
huge laugh. With all the roles assigned, Aveson would finally tell the
Spring Thing story, while his cast of volunteers acted it out:
Once
upon a time there were two lovers, Billy and Sue. They got angry with each
other, over the silliest thing. (This might be putting the top on the
toothpaste or putting the toilet seat down.)
It looked like they were going to separate but somehow the spirit of
springtime was going to help save them and bring them together.
Aveson would prompt his straight-laced spirit to begin
his comical prance around the circle. Then, in turn, he prompted each of
the other volunteers to join the action.
The
lake burbled.
The flowers bloomed.
The trees blossomed.
The sun rose.
And the spirit of springtime surrounded them again and again and again.
With his cast continuing to burble, bloom, blossom and
rise, and with the spirit of springtime prancing in circles, Aveson turned
the attention to the forlorn-looking couple on the “bench.”
And
then the lovers turned to each other —
and they embraced.
As the embarrassed strangers hugged and the spirit volunteer continued
running circles, Aveson would deliver the ultimate punch line:
The true title of our
story, ladies and gentlemen:
Spring has sprung and the sap
is running.
Thank
you.
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| still more from Buskers...(from
Balagan)
Not long after Igor arrived back in the Square, he was
drawing audiences that matched those of the jugglers across the street.
At first there had been tension when several of them visited Igor
between shows to explain “how things worked” in the Square. They
tried to explain that other performers don’t begin shows while they
are performing. But Igor didn’t allow himself to be bullied. He
supposed that their problems stemmed from minor temporary jealousies. He
continued to do his shows in a good-natured way and knew he was gaining
their respect and friendship when they began to address him as part of
their acts. Peter Panic added to his juggling show a new one-liner he
could shout across at Igor.
“Hey, puppet-boy!” he’d yell. “I got a pair of
scissors here with your name on it!”
With the petty tension gone, Igor enjoyed going for a
beer with his talented new friends. Though he didn’t much like the
bitter drink, he loved the camaraderie. Not since he and his friends
formed the theater in Pushkin – before they had betrayed him by
destroying it – had Igor spent time with his artist friends. He had
missed it.
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