Le Pouf et Le Cadeau

You’re at the funeral, yes? And it doesn’t really matter whose it is or what it’s about. But, you see, it is not a funeral of reality. Non, non, non. It is a prank funeral: a funeral made of tricks and deceptions. All the people weep; they are overcome by sadness. But you? You are in the coffin. You already switched the coffins, yes? It is a brilliant idea. You have… how do you say… infiltrated the coffin with a slithering.

But here’s a twist my slimy friend: the coffin is of a transparent hue, which is to say it has no hue at all! And who is inside? It is you! You, alive! Some sort of miracle? No, of course not. It is all planned, but the people do not see this they only see the lie.

They walk; they cry, but then they look and there in the coffin you are smiling. In the confusion they ask a question: “Who is this man? What the eff is going on? Why is he frickin there?” Yes, they will ask. But the real question in their minds is one that shall forever be left unanswered: “how did he do it?”

Some of them begin to chase you. They chase your pallbearers three and around and around you go, until one slips on a banana peel. Little microscopic oopsies turn into gargoyle mistakes. Ha ha ha! What a laugh and a fool and a jaunt.

The comic tragedy ends with a magnificent purple hat. A very nice hat made of good, strong material. It is large and purple and, to the funeral-goers, as inexplicable as your transparent coffin. You, on the ground now, pull it from your bosom. “What the hell? Where did he get that stupid purple hat?” they ask. And in response you start pulling birds! Birds from nowhere in particular! Spawning them from your sleeves where you also have cards, ribbons, and smiles. You throw them all like the wind, singing: “Ahh, the Hollywood. We love the sights, the sounds, the stars. All the glories of Hollywooood!”

Your time in the lime has come to a line so fine, and now you topple over the edge. The sadness… it begins to return. Some weep, some hold back tears, and some feel true emotion, but you are prepared. You take out the flower that sprays water. A simple trick and a spray to the face. Now the laughter has returned, and they can no longer cry, for the birds are flying, the ribbons are dancing, and your hand pulls a carrot from the well-made purple hat. The people cannot, or will not, understand, but they laugh because of the absurdity… it is perfect. You are the pagliacci.

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