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Don’t even think about becoming a slapstick performer unless you’re happy about being humiliated for other people’s entertainment.
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Don’t even think about becoming a slapstick performer unless you’re happy about being humiliated for other people’s entertainment.
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Slapstick stooge work - you don’t do it because you enjoy it; you do it because you know others enjoy seeing you do it.
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If you’ve ever volunteered to be a stooge in the stocks or a pillory for a charity stunt you won’t need telling the gig’s a whole lot tougher than it looks.
For a start, you get cold. When semi-liquid gunge begins to dry on naked skin, evaporation occurs, and you cool down quickly. No matter how warm the surrounding air, the more you’re covered with slimy stuff and the less you’re able to move, the worse you’re likely to shiver.
Secondly, gunk gets in your eyes. And if you’re locked by your wrists in the stocks it won’t be possible to free your hands to wipe the muck away. (The technique here is simply to shut your eyelids at the last second as a custard pie – or whatever – is about to hit you in the face, and to keep them closed afterwards until you sense that all the messy ammunition has slipped down and away.)
Conversely, one of the problems you have might have been worried about beforehand is easily overcome. Imagine you’d bravely agreed to be locked in the stocks for the entire time the village fête is open, and half way through the long afternoon you realise you need to wee. Too much bother for you to be released, even for a short while. Provided by that point you’re coated in wet gloop almost everywhere, you can let out little dribbles one at a time into your shorts or Speedos until you’re comfortable again. (You shouldn’t have any inhibitions about doing this – you wouldn’t have allowed yourself to be messed-up in public if you’d had concerns about your dignity.) Your piss mixes undetected with all the other fallen splodge around your ankles and the festive parishioners of St. Ninian’s need never know.
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