PAWGliacci
Heard joke once: A woman in a short skirt with an absolute dump truck ass goes to the doctor. I’m talking certified, Grade A, top-shelf rump roast. A badonkadonk with its own area code. A real thunder-clapper. Anyway, she says she’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says she feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain.
The doctor sighs and says, “Me too.”
“Really?” The woman gasps, taken aback.
The doctor nods. “I think about roping all the time.”
“Goodness.” She covers her mouth, shocked at his candor.
The doctor stares out the exam room window. “Every day at lunch I stand on the roof of this hospital, on the exact same spot at the far northeast corner, over the maternity ward, and think about taking three steps.”
“Three steps?” she whispers, almost afraid to ask.
“Two to reach the edge. And the third…” he trails off.
A somber silence hangs in the air.
“…so why don’t you?” she finally asks.
The doctor offers a wan grin, almost sheepish. “I went to a therapist. Best in the tristate area. You know what he told me?”
She leans in. “What?”
“Treatment is simple, the therapist said. Great clown PAWGliacci is in town tonight. Go and see her. That should pick you up.”
She frowns. “But doctor…”
“So I went and GAWD-DAMN!” The doctor slaps his knee. “That clown’s got a backside so fat she’s juggling her own cheeks! I’m telling you, this big top bootylicious bitch was a red-nose wrecking ball! She was shaking that roustabout rump so hard, it was an OSHA violation!”
“But doctor!” The woman pleads.
“I swear to God I’d tie myself to railroad tracks just to be crushed to death by that colossal clown caboose! I was praying ‘Please Jesus if I have to die, let me die choking on that pie-splattered cake! Let me die in the vice-like grip of her Two Ham Harlequin Hauler!’’”
“Doctor please!” The woman cries, verging on tears.
The doctor is manic, nearly frothing. “Every other clown in the three rings was jerking his rubber chicken! Even the ringmaster was her slave! Big tents all around! Hangin’ rope was out, blowin’ rope was in! And all at once, I realized the enormity of it all—not just her ballyhoo busker butt, but life itself. Of all the times and places I could’ve been born, I was born here, I was born now—and I thought, hell, if I’m lucky enough to be trapped in the clown car of life with an ass like that, a juicy jester jiggler bringing joy to the world, it’s all worth living for!”
“BUT DOCTOR!” The woman hops off the exam table, slaps a red ball on her nose, and bends over. “I am PAWGliacci!” she wails, twerking her sorrow out.
The doctor slams his face between her callipygian carnival clappers. “GYATT!” Ω