Portable Carnival. You pack it up and roll it away two weeks to the day that it arrives. The lives of these carnies have never mattered. They exist only as a part of the traveling freakshow. Something we pay money to stare at, to laugh at, to mock. It’s degrading, but it’s how the freaks have to earn their living. It’s how Two Toe Toby affords his next meal. But he doesn’t have a favorite sit down restaurant, because they keep putting him back on a bus and sending him to a different city to manage the tilt-a-whirl; And all the hurling ***** from children's’ stomachs that are full of corn dogs and cotton candy. Portable Portajohn. A traveling **** storm. Citizens come and give us their paychecks in return for cheap thrills on rinky **** rides that spin their minds into oblivion. Just so they can say they’ve tasted the clouds and all of the pollution that surrounds them. And just like that, we leave again. Vanishing into our next city, for a scheduled two week period.