Kidnapped by Carnies

I like to think carnies don't reproduce. Not out of choice, mind you. They're sterile, naturally. And when a member of their troupe dies, whether it be Lobster Girl or Sketchy Tilt O' Whirl Dude, they gather their supplies and speed off to the nearest suburb. Then they set up shop right outside of the sleep little neighborhood. Families from the area flood the makeshift theme park and enjoy the festivities. The laughter and sheer joy that the carnival generates hides the carnies true and insidious intention(that's right... carnivals are FUN. Okay, perhaps not). Taking a note from Buddhist monks, the carnies watch for any children focused on the ride or show a deceased carny represented... the freak show, ring toss, etc. A child seen frequenting an area more than once is targeted. Chosen. A week later the carnival says its farewells, leaving behind used condoms, beer cans, and inescapable memories... save for one unmarked van. The carnies have been keeping tags on their Chosen One, and wait until the right moment to snatch them up. The child is told that they, too, are part of the carnival. Imagine the look on some little girl's face when they tell her she's the new bearded lady.

Well, that was a weird tangent. But you have to admit, carnies are fucking sketch. And they have probably stolen a few children over the years. Kids run away to circuses... but carnies abscond with them. Nobody wants to run a carnival. Have you ever looked into a carny's eyes? Nothing there. They're dead inside. They all had dreams. "I'm gonna be a doctor!" "I'm going to be a fireman!" No. No, you will serve a dark and vengeful God, tricking children out of their hard earned allowances to throw balls at pins with lead weights in them. Did you know that a carny's smile, much like a solar eclipse, should not be looked at directly? I mean, they seldom smile. But when they do... Christ. Christ have mercy on us all.

But they serve a purpose. Like mosquitoes and parasitic worms and shit. All part of the natural order. If you take away carnies, you lose roughly 3/4's of injury lawsuits and 1/2 of the molestation charges in this country. It's not pretty, but they serve a purpose, one far grander than any one of us could ever fathom.

While I'm spouting ridiculous things, maybe I should mention one of my childhood quirks that has absolutely NO relevance to anything I just said. When I was 8, my father had some movie on in the living room about a a super alligator living in the sewers of NYC. And the scene I stumbled upon was pretty gruesome: the found some poor sanitation worker's leg. From that moment on, till I hit puberty, I REFUSED to put my legs under the covers. I'm still confused as to why. I must have figured there was an alligator living under my sheets, and the moment I slid my legs under... well, you can figure it out. But why my sheets? Why not UNDER the bed? Or fucking sewers, for that matter? Why on Earth did I sleep in the cold for FOUR SOLID YEARS out of some irrational fear that SHEET ALLIGATORS were going to gnaw on my limbs?

Also completely irrelevant: I'd like to try haggis. I feel like something so foul sounding must taste like Ambrosia.

...

I really need to meet someone.