#The finest winnebago that money can buy

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Dumb thought of the day (though TBF the others have been very dumb too): the fact that Murdoc and Stuart are both Very Very Wealthy is hilarious and horrifying to consider. These classless bastards should not have that much power.

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A Good-ass Fanfic That’s Been

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The Magician, Part 3

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your kind attention,” Bill smiled up at the watching crowd. “For me, the real magic tonight has been your generous love and courtesy.”

The crowd applauded as Bill took a deep bow, then turned to the other side of the ring and bowed again.  The crowd stood, the applause growing until it was like thunder.  After a short while, Bill put his hands up for silence.  It took a while, but eventually, things were quiet again.

“At this point in the show, we usually pass the hat for charity.  As a result of your generosity, over 500 different charities world-wide have benefitted, including the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, the United Way, The Salvation Army, The Make-A-Wish Foundation and the Friends of the World Food Program.”

Again, the crowd applauded, cheering.  Bill gestured once more for silence and it came almost immediately.

“Tonight, though, a member of our audience is in desperate trouble.   This person did not buy a ticket.  Instead, it was given as a special present by a friend.  You know who you are, so I won’t call attention to you,” said Bill, taking his hat off.  A clown wearing a tutu dashed forward to accept the hat.  “Thank you,” Bill said, addressing the clown, then turned back to the audience, “Tonight, I invite you to give as generously as you can for our anonymous friend.  Without your generosity, a home may be foreclosed, a family thrust into the street.   Without your generosity, a group of children may starve.  As for you, my friend, where ever you are, following the show, please present your ticket stub to the ticket taker at the gate so that you can receive your money.  I promise you, the worst is now over.”  With this, Bill reached into his back pocket.  “Now, for my best trick of the evening,” Bill smiled, pulling out his wallet.  He opened it, and withdrew a small piece of paper. “This,” he said, holding it up, “is a real, honest, fifty dollar bill.” Bill dropped the paper into the hat and, in a short while, the clown was moving through the audience.

“It’s been a pleasure to entertain you, tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” said Bill, putting his wallet away as he watched each patron put something into the hat, “and now, my part of the show is over, so, I bid you a very reluctant good night.” Bill bowed one more time.  As he did, there was a puff of smoke.  When it cleared, Bill was gone.  There was a gasp and then the audience stood to applaud, one more time.   Unnoticed, Bill peeked through the tent’s flap, smiling as the ring-master returned to the center ring to introduce the next act.   Turning, he headed to the back entrance of the big top.  Waiting there was the rather tall, muscular man who had taken the tickets that night.

“Great act tonight, Mr. Curtiss,” said the man, grinning.

“You saw that, did you, Conrad?” Bill said, smiling at the big man.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Conrad replied. “It’s the best part of the entire show.”

“I doubt that,” said Bill with a chuckle.  “Now listen, the ticket you’ll want to keep your eyes open for is number 7398.  Be sure to bring the ticket holder straight to my camper.  All right, Conrad?”

“You bet, Mr. Curtiss,”  Conrad smiled.

“And Conrad?” Bill added.

“Yes, Mr. Curtiss?” said the big man.

“When are you going to start calling me, ‘Bill’?” the magician grinned, turning toward the chain-link fence and the makeshift performer’s village beyond.

He felt great, almost like skipping.  It had been two years since Circus Circus had hired him.  He’d been pleased that they’d accepted his suggestion to send a select group of their finest performers on a tour of the United States during the warmer three-quarters of the year with the condition that they winter in Las Vegas.  As a result, he’d visited just about every state in the union, with the possible exception of Hawaii and Alaska, and his magic had never been stronger and he’d never felt more alive.  When he reached his Winnebago, the clown in the tutu was waiting there with his hat.

“Is it full, Doug?” Bill said.

“Yup,” said the clown, handing Bill the hat, which was simply stuffed with glittering coins and long green pieces of paper.

“Excellent,” Bill smiled, “Thanks for your help.”  The clown bowed and turned to run back to the giant tent for the closing ceremonies.

Cradling the now heavy hat, Bill opened the door of the big camper and went inside.  Bill carefully dumped the hat out and hung it on a hook by the door.  Then he sat at the dining table and began to count the donations.  When he’d finished counting, he was pleased to discover that the contents of the hat was a little over two hundred thousand dollars, more than enough to help the struggling patron without going overboard.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Bill started, his eyebrows drawing down.  The show wasn’t supposed to end for another half hour.

“Who’s there?” he called, abruptly suspicious.

“A friend,” said a familiar voice from the other side.

“Merle,” Bill guessed.  Leaping up, he seized the door handle and flung it open.  There, framed in the doorway was the same old man, complete with Van Dyke mustache and beard, cheap straw hat and cane, that he’d first met almost three years ago.  The man was smiling broadly.

“Hello, Bill,” the old man said.  “How’ve you been?”

“Come in, Merle,” Bill said, stepping out so that the old man could climb the narrow steps, “You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“You look much happier, Bill,” Merle replied, seating himself comfortably on the sofa.

“Thanks,” Bill smiled, “I guess I am.  Can I get you anything?”  He made for the mini-fridge.

“No, thank you,” Merle smiled, leaning his cane against the wall.  “Actually, I came to see how you were doing.”

“Great!”  Bill said, pulling a shoebox out of one of the overhead cabinets and seating himself at the table.  “We’ve been all over the US, twice!”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Bill,” Merle chided gently.

“Oh,” the magician said in more solemn tones, carefully gathering up the money from the table.  He was quiet for a while as he slipped a rubber band around the stack of paper money and slid the coins into a plastic sandwich bag.  Putting the results back into the shoebox to send to the bank in the morning, Bill dug his checkbook from the box and wrote out a blank check for the total amount of money his hat had collected.  He’d add the name as soon as knew what it was.

“Well, I really don’t know if I should say,” Bill said at last, setting the checkbook aside.  “Isn’t it bragging to tell about things like that?”

Merle smiled, “Normally, you’d be correct.  Still, I’m curious what you’ve been doing with your gift since last we spoke.  Besides, I’m not just anyone.”

Bill relaxed a bit, but remained sober.  “Well, I’m not sure if I’m doing enough,” he said, “Every show we pass the hat and give the money we gather to a random charity taken from a list suggested by the audience.  Circus Circus was in Time Magazine once last year because of the some of the donations we’ve made.  Then, every year so far, I’ve appeared on PBS during pledge week and done a few minor tricks.  They tell me it helps a bit.  Then again, once a month, I visit a hospital and do a free show. I’m scheduled to appear at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, here in Memphis tomorrow morning.  Next month, I’m doing a show for the patients at the VA hospital in Lexington, Kentucky.  It gives me a big thrill to pull things out of people’s ears or from underneath their beds and give them to patients. The last group of kids I entertained that way seemed really happy.”

“You’ve been staying busy, then,” Merle said.

“You could say that,” Bill replied, smiling briefly, “But is it enough?  I mean with all the publicity the show generates, the charity and everything, it’s been kind of hard for me to stay out of the public eye.  The few times I’ve appeared in a published work, they’ve referred to me as ‘the Miracle Worker.’   I’m not a miracle worker, Merle.  I’m just a man.”

“Well, Bill,” said Merle, his eyes twinkling slightly, “it sounds to me as though you’ve nothing to worry about.  Trust me.”

There was another knock at the door.

“Mr. Curtiss?” said a voice on the other side. “Your visitor is here to see you.”

“That’s Conrad,” said Bill, fingering the checkbook on the table.  “I wish you’d stay this time.”

Merle chuckled, as Conrad knocked on the door again.  “You’d better answer that.”

Bill stood and went to the door.  It swung open and there in the doorway stood Conrad and another man in a pair of paint-smeared but otherwise clean jeans and a blue work shirt.

“So, you’re my lucky ticket holder, are you?” Bill smiled, taking the stranger’s hand for a firm but gentle handshake. “Won’t you come in?   Thanks, I’ve got it from here,” he added to Conrad, who smiled and walked back toward the big tent where he’d be helping the rest of the crew clean up after the latest crowd.

As Bill turned back to the living area of his camper, he was disappointed to find it empty again.  Hiding his displeasure, the magician guided his new guest to the sofa and, without asking, went to the fridge and got the man a cherry soda and a glass of ice.

“How did you know?” the man asked, fingering the offerings nervously. “That my friend gave me a ticket to the show today, I mean?”

“Let’s just say a little bird told me,” Bill replied easily, grabbing the checkbook again.  “Now, to whom do I make this out?”