Guns at Play
Dear Rex Ringmaster,
I work in the financial sector, and once a month our firm brings in a guest speaker.
Someone with a unique perspective. To give motivation.
I mostly enjoy it.
But our speaker next month?
Some guy from the “paintball community.”
Like, he’s a professional paintball player.
A grown adult making a living … at paintball.
Me? I’ve got to rise and grind. I’m Type A, but not by choice. Out of sheer necessity.
I don’t have the luxury to play games.
Yet now I’m getting a speech from a dude whose business acumen ranks one step above laser tag?
Please explain how this became my life.
Signed,
Senseless Paintball Lectures Are Trash
Dear SPLAT,
Greetings and felicitations to your unabashedly unhappy emotion.
Veering far beyond mild annoyance.
Steering miles from a mere shoulder shrug.
You are not Type A by choice?
By force, then?
This speaker may be a shaman or a charlatan or betwixt the two. Who knows.
That is not the point.
You feel trapped making your wages and meeting your numbers.
You view happiness as incompatible with success.
Part of my job in the circus is to help new acts escape “the rigamarole of reality.”
In turn, each patron watching can transcend their own rigamarole, if only for a moment.
The show, as you know, must go on.
But the show is quite yours to choose!
A dream can’t come true if you don’t have a dream.
Perhaps it’s time to audition for a different act?
Financial and familial obligations must be met, of course.
These things are never simple.
(Keep in mind we use nets for good reason.)
Then flash the crowd a smile — balance yourself — and jump!
Reality’s onerous rigamarole may indeed be unshackled. Cast aside with great pomp and verve.
It can be done, of that I assure you.
Applause erupts upon the completion of many well-executed and unexpected moves.
Counterpoint Commentary by …
BOOMPLE the Clown
Paintball, huh?
Sounds dumb.
Imagine having fun, doing what you love, living your best life.
Captain Paintball must be a dope. Showing off his inner bozo.
That’s a term people use now. “Inner bozo.”
Like it’s a bad thing!
Well y’all better put some respect on that clown’s name.
Bozo was a character beloved by millions. His slapstick unique and eccentric; his humor infectious and sweet.
Adored by children in many countries around the world.
Reminding us all to not take life too seriously.
These days? Now a punchline.
And not the good kind.
But Bozo and Captain Paintball and me?
We know the secret to happiness.
Ok maybe not THE secret. But a secret nonetheless.
I paint my face every night, yet it’s not a mask. It’s my truth.
When does your truth show itself?
After five whiskey sours? Smoking some herb?
Scratching your particular itch on the Internet?
Escaping reality at each turn.
That’s why my inner bozo — is my outer bozo.
You understand?
My inner bozo is my outer bozo.
Figure that out, businessman, and maybe you can rise to the ranks of the clowns.
