The Amazing Pooping Pachyderm Parade

The associate publisher waved the tickets at me and said, “They’re prime seats. How’d ya like to go?” They were tickets to the circus.  Front row tickets to the circus.  I was a lowly advertising artist and had a new girlfriend –these were tickets to her heart.  She’d be so impressed.  She’d know I had connections. That I was important.

We started the evening with a big, delicious Mexican dinner.   We stuffed ourselves with burritos smothered with beans, meat and sauce. Afterwards, we headed downtown to the circus.  I parked the car, opened her door and held her hand as we hunted our seats. Our front-row seats.

I could tell she was impressed by the twinkle in her eyes. YES!  A huge impression was about to be made.  Send in the clowns!

We found our seats (did I mention our front row seats?).  The lights dimmed. The music started. The spotlight went to the tunnel at the end of the arena.  Giant, majestic gray beasts lumbered out of the darkness. The elephant parade had begun.

They were coming right at us. We had front row seats for the amazing pachyderm parade. Elephant after elephant marched right by us.  I smiled. I could tell my date was REALLY impressed.  Never has there been a more impressive sight. We could reach out and touch the magnificent creatures.

What I didn’t know was that apparently the parade was sponsored by Ex-Lax. Every single elephant had dysentery.  Bad. And every single elephant waited right until they got in front of my date to drop his or her toxic load.

Splat.

The popcorn soon hit the ground.

Splat.

My date started to turn pale.

Splat.

The smell soon overwhelmed the sight and the sound.

Splat.

My date looked at me (tasting her Mexican food for the second time) and weakly said, “Can we go?”  There was no hand-holding on the way back to the car.

So that’s the true story of the amazing pooping pachyderm parade. I’m really not sure why my wife married me, to be honest.  But I do know this much: We haven’t been to a circus since.