The Parable of the Clowns

Josh lives.  Josh walks.  Josh breathes.  Josh speaks. 

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, as one’s core values come to be seen as antiquated and bigoted, how can one rehabilitate one’s popular support?”

Josh spoke thus:

A writer of manifestos was confronted by a tiny car full of clowns.

“Clowning is serious business,” the spokesperson clown said.

The writer of manifestos stifled a smile.  

“I am immensely fond of clowns,” the writer of manifestos said.

“Clowns are oppressed,” the spokesperson clown said.

The writer of manifestos maintained a serious face.

“I espouse the empowerment of clowns,” the writer of manifestos said.

“Clowns are misunderstood,” the spokesperson clown said.

The writer of manifestos swallowed a laugh.

“I advocate a greater understanding of clowns,” the writer of manifestos said.

“Clowns are unappreciated,” the spokesperson clown said.

The writer of manifestos lost his restraint.

“You’re clowns!” he blurted, “You’re clowns in a tiny car!  Everyone loves clowns in a tiny car!”

“Then you won’t help us?” the spokesperson clown asked.

“You don’t need my help,” the writer of manifestos said, “When you walk into a room, children cheer.  When you flap your oversized shoes, when you spin your bow ties, when you trip on banana peels, children laugh!  When you throw your pails of confetti children squeal with joy!”

“No one takes us seriously,” the spokesperson clown said.

“Of course no one take you seriously,” the writer of manifestos said, “You’re clowns.”

“We need a manifesto,” the spokesperson clown said.

“You want a manifesto?” the writer of manifestos said, ”Here’s a manifesto: ‘We’re clowns.  We make you laugh.’  That’s your manifesto!”

“You don’t understand,” the spokesperson clown said, and the spokesperson clown shed a tear.

The writer of manifestos reached for his handkerchief from his suit’s breast pocket to hand to the spokesperson clown.  The handkerchief stuck momentarily, and the writer of manifestos gave it a sharp tug.  The handkerchief came out of the pocket, attached to a second handkerchief.  The writer of manifestos pulled again, and a third handkerchief emerged from his breast pocket.  Successive pulls revealed successive handkerchiefs in a multicolored chain.

The spokesperson clown smiled and said, “So you will write us a manifesto.”

The writer of manifestos replied, “I will write you a punchline.”