I Am a Hippo Trainer Not a Burger Flipper

Need I say more? It’s all in the title. This is so embarrassing. I’ve spent a huge chunk of my life training for something I love and for what? To get a second job? Shit economy! Today I had to get a “food handler’s” card and turn it into the health department. How many 104-year-old women of my stature do you know that have two jobs? I thought that after years of hard work and training that this would be unnecessary. It’s my fault. I hate working in the food industry. I guess I’ll have to make the best of it. Maybe I’ll just whistle while I work. I’m gonna save some cash, work extra hard at the circus and sell lots and lots of panties!!! My plan is to work at this hell hole for a very short time period. Then I’m off to see different places. Luckily, our circus is stayin’ in this town long enough for me to have a second job. Shit economy! Wish me luck! I’m not sure when my job starts yet. I’ll let you know.
-Your hippo trainer soon to be a TEMPORARY burger flipper, Mavis

Gertrude Gets in Big Fat Trouble!!!

Let me tell you a little story about a very bad hippo. The circus is a professional atmosphere. I know that I am guilty of a few unprofessional acts. Please excuse me. I am only human. As you can guess, I do not murder Gertrude for the horrible mistake she made. Almost.
This is how it goes: My lovely hippo performing partner (whom I need severely for my act) decided to be a tramp and go out to the zoo one night. She sported some sexy panties. Can ya’ll guess what happened next? The floozy hippo went on a date with another hippo!!! She tells me his name is Alfred… he’s from Africa… he’s “special”… she’s in love… Whatever. Now the dumb hippo is pregnant. What am I gonna do with a knocked up hippo. She told me yesterday. Three weeks pregnant!!! There’s no way I’m gonna be able to pummel her with my wooden leg. I could injure the baby. And where am I supposed to find another hippo that can perform with me. I am so pissed off right now… I’m seein’ red! Ughh! I’m so disgusted I don’t even want to write! I gotta get outta here!
-Mave

Mavis

Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mivas. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mvasi. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Amvsi. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Svami. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Vamis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. vmsai. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Mavis. Sivam. Mavis.
The end, Sincerely Mavis Rose Sinclair, your hippo trainer

The Man With No Legs… And Very Thin Walls

Juniper here… stepping in for Mavis.
She wanted me to relay her stories while she’s away on a much needed break. Our dear hippo trainer is using this brief amount of time to think. Much is happening in her life at the moment. As you all may know, she is a seasoned woman of 104 years… wise to say the least. This year is the the point on which the pendulum swings in dear Mavis’ life. Late you may be thinking? This has not been the only turning point. But our heroine, Miss Sinclair, has confided in me that this is one of the most epic because she is 104 years old. When something like this happens… Okay, let’s use the age-old cliche over used saying:
“I’m standing at the crossroads”
Which way do I turn?
left
right
Well… there’s always up and down and curvy and such… or you can take the parabolic path… hahaha!
whatever that means…
tangent… Sorry… I’m back… Mavis really wanted me to focus and let ya’ll know that she’s okay and that she’s merely taking time off to collect her self in order to figure out “the next step”. She wants to be a hippo trainer… but something is missing.
Anyway, there is this great story that she wants me to relay to you. Last night, Mavis called me from a pay phone… (undisclosed location of course)… The tale goes like this:
There was a seedy motel arranged for her to stay in by our circus manager. She hated the looks of it from the start. But didn’t have a choice because the circus was footin’ the bill. The ceiling was leaking, the lights buzzed and flickered and she could hear everyone and their dog doing the horizontal polka all night long coz the walls were as thin as newspaper. Reclined pseudo-comfortably in a room tackily clad in 1970’s decor, Mavis realized that this was a very strange and poor retreat from her day job. “Why didn’t I go to the mountains or the ocean or another country?” She felt stir-crazy and could no longer be confined in that horrible motel room…
Up the street was a quaint, 24-hour diner. Mavis ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of key lime pie. The waitress was very friendly but curt. Mave enjoyed the solitude and emptiness of the late night. An hour passed. When the door opened, a man in a wheel chair rolled in slowly, gripping the door clumsily. As he edged toward the counter, Mavis noticed that he did not have his legs. Hmmm…. She wondered what had happened? A very curious gal… we know!
Miss Mave taps him on the shoulder as he’s ordering a Dr. Pepper and a cup of ice. “Would you like to join me?” she asks.
The two of them sat and chatted for several hours.
It turns out that this man lost his legs on the train tracks.
His wife was mad at him and tied him to the tracks… left him for dead. But… all that the train got was his legs. Mave said he was a pleasant fellow around the age of 60. However, she had the impression that he must have treated his wife pretty badly to have deserved that kind of treatment. Nonetheless, he had served his time as a crippled man for forty years now. Not to say he’s forgiven. But, at least she got some revenge… Whether it was equal or not… that’s for you to judge. A lot of people would like to take a wife-beater and tie him to the train tracks. Sounds pretty good, eh?
Well, this guy told his story and Mavis told him hers. Overall, our lovely hippo trainer’s night turned out to be an eventful and interesting night. She didn’t go back to that seedy old roach motel until 4 am!!! But, who would want to go back anyway? Until next time… Juniper

Mavis Rose and Willie Nelson…

I met Willie Nelson. I shit you not.

I was at a coffee shop sipping a delicious iced coffee on a sweltering hot summer night. I needed a break from the noisy atmosphere inside the cafe. Gertrude agreed. We were obliged to step outside for some fresh air. As usual, my darling hippo-friend’s pontoon ass never fits through any normal size door… It took a good five minutes to squeeze her out. Outside, we were reminded that the air was, indeed, not fresh. But more like that of an exhaust pipe. We might as well have stood directly behind a car, put our lips up to the tail end and drawn on the pipe as if it were a giant Cuban cigar. Nonetheless, it was a break from the noise pollution inside the building. As we loitered on the hot asphalt a middle age, grey-haired fellow with a nifty hat and an acoustic guitar slowly crept out of a shadowy gated hallway on our left. Gertrude seemed a bit put out by him because he was old, wrinkly and perfumed with whiskey and marijuana. I, however, was intrigued. Who was this odd fellow? He stopped three feet away from us. “Can I play a song for you?” I told him I would love to hear a song… but asked him his name first. He shook his head. “What’s your name young lady?” I told him my name was Mavis Rose and that my hippo’s name was Gertrude. He was perplexed. “What do you do, Mavis Rose?” I told him my profession and what Gertrude and I do in the ring.
“Wow!” With great enthusiasm he lifted up his guitar and passionately began to strum and sing a song!!! It was lovely. I could feel the energy and emotion behind his music. As soon as his last chord was played, he said, “that was for you Mavis and Gertrude… especially for you!!!” He took a bow. I told him how much I appreciated his song and that we would love to hear another one someday. I told him I would like to know his name. He said, “Sometimes people call me, Willie Nelson.” With that, he winked at me and walked away.” -The End, Mavis Rose

Bearded Lady: R.I.P.

Every circus needs a bearded lady right? Well, our circus has had one for a while. She’s absolutely fabulous! Usually bearded ladies are pretty damn ugly. But ours is a looker! Young and sexy… I know what you’re thinking. How can a woman with a beard be attractive? Well, I’ll tell you what! This gal (her name is Bessie) has bangin’ curves and a smile that goes for miles. It’s kind of hard to see her smile at times due to her massive beard. But her grin is sooooo big it shines through her chin pubes every now and then! We really cherish our unique Bearded Bessie. However, this morning, you won’t believe what she confided in me. In Denton, Texas there is an “Unbearding” contest. He or she who removes the craziest beard of all, wins. Hence, our lovely Bessie has decided to pay to get electrolysis and remove her gargantuan beard! What a sad day that will be!!! She will bring before photos of course and wow the contestants and judges. No doubt a lady with a beard will win!!!
I’m gonna miss her terribly and we’ll have to start a search for a new lady clad with beard… But I must say, I am a bit proud too! I hope she really does win. R.I.P. to our Bessie Bearded Lady (Figuratively speaking, that is) -Mavis

The Stairs That Lead to Nowhere

Francie Kitty and I were tipped off that there were a bunch of great ‘hot spots’ in the town near where we had set up camp. So…. she and I decided it would be wise to go and check them out. A few of the locals who had visited the circus that day told us that there were some great cafes and shops. And the icing on the cake… an old historical haunted house!!! After an exhausting, yet fruitful day under the tents, Miss Kitty and I set out for our adventure. We decided to start with the shops. We shopped ’til we dropped! There were lots of local mom and pop’s and other gift shops for us to peruse. There were a few other little nooks and crannies that we discovered along the way as well. We were exhausted and our tummies began to rumble! There was a small cafe next to an old bank. It was quaint: only about five tables and a bar. The waitress had a cigarette dangling from her wrinkly lips as she took our orders and poured our drinks. There was one other patron seated at the bar reading a newspaper the entire time we munched on our delicious rueben sandwiches. I couldn’t help notice his flitting sideways glances around the side of his paper. Hmmmm… I wondered if he was a local yokel. Those types usually hang out in cafes. I told Francie that I was going to talk to him. She was a bit skeptical at first but then quickly realized the value of the possible information that I might obtain. As I hobbled over to the man, I realized he had a fat cigar smoldering in his ashtray. The smoke was thick and putrid. I have never been able to stand the smell. There’s a certain pungency to cigars that makes you hold your breath and not know when to start breathing again for fear that breathing the smoke might be just as bad as holding your breath forever! Anyway, as I edged up to his side he had already detected my presence. Without turning around he chortled, “what do you want?”
With little hesitation I asked him if he was local and if he knew any information about a haunted house.
No reply.
“Sir?”
No reply.
“If you could kindly give me any information about that haunted house, I would be so grateful!”
“Forget about it! Go home!!”
I hobbled back to my table. Francie heard the entire conversation. We were so confused. Was he just a curmudgeon or was he hiding something? Maybe it was worse than that! Well, you know me. I am a curious ole gal. When I want to find something out, I do! Even though that old man wouldn’t tell us anything about the old house, Francie Kitty and I would set out to find it ourselves. We asked the waitress if she knew about an old historical house that might be haunted. Sure enough, this cigarette-smoldering, wrinkly old lady knew of a big old white farm house that was just up the road. And guess what? She also knew someone who could help us!!! There was a street in town named Normal St. Imagine that! A road named normal!!! The waitress told us that there was a lady on Normal St. who used to live in that house.

Her name was, Ms. Esme Drake.She was absolutely beautiful. Her house was a mid-century wood frame cottage decorated with every color you can imagine! Francie and I thought she had to be in her mid-thirties. But as she began to tell us about the haunted house, we began to realize that this lady had to be closer to my age! She and I had something in common! Although we are well over 100 years of age, we look much younger.

The story about the house goes like this:
When she was a young girl, her family had a farmhouse that belonged to her family. Her father grew mostly corn, but they had a few other small crops, livestock and chickens. Esme was the youngest of five. She had two sisters and two brothers. In order of age: Ursula, Bailey, Riley and Camilla. Her mother came from a wealthy family in a big city and her father from poor farming family in this town. Her parents’ names were Delia Earhart and Wade Cribbs.
Most of her growin’ up, they were a very happy family. The house was simply beautiful in every way! A big white colonial-style home with columns and a big front porch. They had a porch swing too! Her mother would hang their clothes to dry in the back on a big clothesline. They had a big well for water. Esme said the water tasted so fresh!
Out of all the features in the house, Esme said the winding ornate wooden staircase was the most beautiful! Everyone who came to visit would “ooh and aah” over those stairs. Not even the crystal chandelier could compare to the grandeur of the staircase. Her mother hung family portraits along the walls leading up to the second floor. And on special occasions, she would light candles along the sides to create a glowing ambience.
All of this was amazing. It was a great time to be in the Cribbs family!  However, when Esme turned 5 years old, her mother fell ill. The doctor said it was Pneumonia. Unfortunately, she did not pull through. The entire family was so upset. It was as if their whole lives were turned upside down. Her father was unable to take care of his children and the farm. All the crops began to wither and die. Esme and all her brothers and sisters were so sad. They lost their mother, their father was depressed and their home was in shambles.
There was one thing that comforted Esme though. At night her mother would come and visit her. She was merely a child, sleeping cozily in her bed, and her mother’s spirit would float above her and brush the hair out of her eyes and sing her to sleep. Esme didn’t tell anyone for a long time, because she felt like it was her special secret. But one day, she decided to tell her sister Camilla. She thought Camilla would keep her secret. But Camilla was afraid that Esme had lost her mind for sure. Camilla felt that it was her duty as her older sister to tell someone. Esme’s father sent her to a clinic for the mentally deranged where she stayed for about a month. It was a traumatic event which caused her to feel crazy, even if she wasn’t crazy in the first place.  It was after she left the house that the visions of her mother stopped.
But, what you have to know is this: after Esme left the house when she was five, everyone in her family began to see things. Her father saw objects moving by themselves. And Bailey, Camilla,Ursula and Riley saw ghosts.  All of the supernatural activity happened on the second floor where their mother died. Esme’s father decided that the only solution was to board up the beautiful staircase for all eternity so that NOONE would ever be able to go upstairs again. So, he and Esme’s two brothers got wood and nails and spent an entire day sealing off the stairs. It was like an Egyptian tomb sealed off from the world forever!
Francie kitty and I were flabbergasted! We had no idea how involved this story would be! How exciting! We thanked Esme for all of her time and asked her for directions to the house. She told us how to get there but pleaded that we not get curious and try to go upstairs. We asked her if she’d like to go with us and she adamantly declined. As we stood in front of the grand old white house. Our hearts began to palpitate in fear and excitement. We looked at each other once and then began our adventure toward the house. The front door was enormous and the white paint was chipped with age. Francie bravely grabbed the door handle. Esme had told us it would be open. No one cared about the house any more. No one would dare go there for that matter. As we took a hesitant step inside, our first sight was the grand staircase. Covered in dust and cobwebs, we could only imagine what it looked like in its original state. I could still see the tops of old paintings peeking out from the layers of old wood haphazardly nailed to cover the entrance of the stairs. Francie and I explored all the rooms of the house. All the original furniture was still there. It made it even creepier to know that the Cribbs family left hastily and that everyone was too scared to even come back to collect the furniture.
I couldn’t take the curiosity any more. I told Francie that I just had to see what was upstairs. I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!!! Besides, after all these years, she’s probably gone. (I assumed the mother was the ghost.) Francie urged me not to. But, with much pleading, she finally agreed.
There were so many layers of wood that we had to go out to the shed and find some axes to break through. It took us over an hour. Hesitantly, I began to hobble, one by one, up the steps. Francie was close behind. I would guess that there were over thirty steps total.
Expecting a landing of some sort and some rooms, I glanced up from the last step.

It was so strange and you’re not going to believe Francie and me but there was nothing there. Not a room, a piece of wood, brick or part of the house… just a void: a big black void. “Put your hand in there”, Francie said. But I was so afraid. I thought that if I put my hand in there, I might not ever get it back. I already lost my leg, no since in risking losing another limb. It was kinda like looking into a dark closet except there was absolutely no sign of anything. We were so scared, we just turned around and scurried down those stairs. “Should we board it back up?”, Francie asked responsibly. We quickly jammed a huge pile of wood in front of the stair entrance and got out of there as fast as we could. You know what I think? That place is still haunted. 🙂 -Mavis Rose Sinclair AKA…. ghost hunter

Your Lovely Gypsy Mama: Mavis Rose Sinclair

It’s not easy being a gypsy. People see you in public and they think, “Oh my God! Look at that disgusting gypsy! She should bathe more!” or “Oh my! What is that? Is that a wooden leg? Is she a pirate or something?” Now, ya’ll have some kind of romantic vision of gypsies in your heads, right? Don’t lie!!! Come on!!! Close your eyes for one second… ok don’t close your eyes ’cause then you couldn’t read this. But, imagine this… your entire lives you have been told this idealize or stereotyped description of “a gypsy”. Fill in the blank here_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________. Ok. Now that you have given your version of a gypsy, I am going to tell you what a “real” gypsy is:

We are misfits.  Each and every one of us has been traveling for a while. Now, I am only speaking from experience. And, I may be generalizing. So, if you are a gypsy with a different story, please, by all means…. speak up! But, anyway… We each have individual stories, come from different backgrounds and usually have unique talents. In the circus, gypsies are very fortunate. Do you know why? Because we have an outlet for our unique abilities and we are able to make a living, (although meager). Otherwise, most of us would be on the streets. Many gypsies are merely “travelers” by trade. Some are dishonest; this is true. They tend to steal for a living and give other gypsies a bad rap. We honest gypsies do not respect them. So, to those of you out there: when you think of us, please regard us as talented dignified people. Because most people deserve this kind of respect and so do gypsies!
Sincerely, Your Hippo Trainer Gypsy, Mavis Rose Sinclair

Ashaya, Beatrice and Mavis Almost Get Arrested!!

Last night was a decadent girl’s-night of roasting marshmallows, beer and fun! It was all the girls from the circus and more! Ashaya, Beatrice, Gertrude and I were crowded around a campfire roasting our marshmallows and chatting. The air was humid and the mosquitos were as big as birds! We made some amazing Smores! Chocolate, Graham crackers and the roasted mellows. They were delicious!!! We licked our fingers in delight after eating several of these delicacies. Then, Ashaya mentioned the sweltering heat again. “Why not go take a dip in a pool somewhere?”, she said. We all agreed that that was a swell idea. The only problem was finding a pool. It was late at night and the only pools we could think of were in apartments. Hmmmm. Oh, well… we just drove around town looking at pool gates. They were all locked!!! Rats!!! Then I told the girls, “fuck it!” I got Ashaya to give me a boost and I hopped the fence into one of the pools. Then, I scooted chairs over to the fence for all of the other girls to stand on to get in. The pool was delightful! It was a cool refreshing way to end our sticky marshmallow campfire-clad night. Some of the ladies were concerned as to why the gate had been locked. A few speculated that it might have been a disease or a dead body. But, none the less, we continued to splash around in the water. I had to ask Gertrude to take it easy too, because her pontoon ass was splashing out ALL of the water. And Beatrice warned me not to go too deep, reminding me that my wooden leg might become water-logged and she wasn’t a strong enough swimmer to save me. We were just having a merry ole’ time. When all of the sudden, out of nowhere, popped a scary old security guard!!! “Are ya’ll ladies havin’ fun?” “Do ya’ll live here” “How’d ya’ll get in here?” We were scared to death. We didn’t know what to do and just sat there staring back in fear. He told us we had to scram and if he saw us there again, we’d get arrested. On thing he said stuck with us: “This pool is closed for a reason!” What reason could that be? We were worried that it could have been diseased or it could have been the dead body. So, one of the brave girls went back to ask him. It was only because a bunch of hoodlums spill beer in the pool. What a dumb reason. I’m just glad we didn’t get arrested!!! -Mavis

Tales of a Junkyard Junky

Meandering through the piles of splintered wood, broken glass and old refrigerators, Ashaya Rayn and I were beginning to realise that this might not be such a good idea. The Miser told us that we could use his roof to sunbathe. So “Ashaya the Fire Juggler” and I decided it would be a swell idea to get a bit of summer sun. We had no idea what we were getting our selves into. As we walked up to the junk yard, Ashaya (who had never seen The Miser’s house) looked shocked. Her eyes swelled with fear. You must understand that this young lady is very brave too. For her new performance at the circus, she juggles huge orange, red and blue flames as if it were second nature. But the sight of the junk yard was overwhelming. For some reason, despite our hesitation and fear, we continued forward. Clad in bikinis and freshly-applied sunscreen, Ashaya and I were about to find out what roof-sitting in an old junk yard was like. So, as I mentioned earlier, we walked past so much junk!!! There were old T.V.’s, fans, piles of metal, rusted nails and anything else you can imagine. Finally, Freud the Miser said, “we’re here!” Ashaya looked at me with true fear in her eyes. I thought at that moment she would truly want to turn and flee. But she stood her ground. We were going to have to climb a rickety old ladder up to that old roof. And this old lady, with her wooden leg, was even more afraid. I volunteered first anyway and made it safely to the top. Once we were all up, the realisation sank in: it was overcast. All of this for no opportunity to sunbathe! Oh well! Freud insisted that we continue on. And sure enough, on the other side of the roof, a bit of sun peaked through the clouds. Ashaya and I strategically laid out our blankets and specified that Freud needed his own. Once we cracked open a can of cheap Texas beer, the junk yard didn’t seem so bad!!! Some time went by. The sun felt crisp on our skin. This old lady doesn’t necessarily need any more sun. But who’s counting? Freud wouldn’t shut up! He was going on and on about how great he was, how many women he gets and this and that. He was definitely showing off for Ashaya.  We were really enjoying the sun, clouds and the view of the beautiful garden over yonder. Finally, Freud got tired and left. We were elated with joy. And not only that, but I had to pee really bad! There was no way in hell that I was gonna use his nasty-ass toilet. I’ve told you about the way Freud-the-Miser lives. His toilet is black and it’s missing a seat. So, Ashaya laughed while I peed off the side of the roof! We had so much fun! -Love, Mavis Rose Sinclair