Under The Big Guy’s Big Top

The sharpshooter’s act ended without bloodshed, so the ringmaster waved out the gymnasts.
Seventeen agile Frenchmen pranced their way to the center ring, somersaulting and leaping with great skill.
Just as they finished their Parisian Pyramid, the trapeze artists screamed… the rigging was giving way.
The tent’s canvas ripped open quickly, revealing a horrific sight: the stars were careening wildly around the sky like drunken moths.
The astonished tumblers fell to the ground in a groaning pile, but the bearded old man in the audience began to laugh and applaud.
“Splendid!” God said. “Best night I’ve had in eons! Bravo.”