Buffoons Invade L’ÉTHÉÂTRE
Luckily nobody called the police. There was, in the end, no need to panic. “Pas de panique,” as some of the guests put it. Others weren’t sure. There was a good bit of general confusion on Saturday evening as people assembled at L’ÉCOLE SECONDAIRE JULES-VERNE to see Le Trio Boris and found a gang of badly dressed, misshapen people pushing each other out of the way to get at the hors d'œuvre.
So there is everybody arriving, many of them dressed for a nice summer evening of entertainment based on excerpts of Boris Vian’s novels and the poetry of Jacques Prévert.
First: the shock of seeing a gang of Buffoons. Then: the horror of their approach.
“How do you like my ass? I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re glad you don’t have one like this, eh? Well I say you gotta love what ya got. What do you got to say to that?”
When Madame Rouge walked in with her riding crop, I thought: Uh Oh.
So that’s what I said: “Uh Oh!”
I make no apologies, dear reader, for I had joined them. At the last minute, they needed someone to make an even nine, and that was I.
Our job? To mock normal human intercourse, wiggling every extremity.
And Buffoons have more extremities than most.
All in good fun, but I have to tell you, when Crum’s head disappeared underneath that Russian lady’s skirt, and I saw B’linda trying to follow, I myself thought things had gone too far.
I hid behind a potted palm.
Luckily the beautiful Dream Circus girl did not fall off the pole the strong man had balanced on his shoulder, and none of us Buffoons ended up in jail.