Jelly Bean climbed the steps to the door of the trailer behind the elephant pen. One of the old bulls trumpeted as Jelly Bean tapped lightly on the door.

“Come on in, Jelly Bean,” Wiggles said from behind his desk. He was chewing the stub of a comically oversized exploded cigar while pouring over the accounting books. “Popcorn sales were shit last month,” Wiggles muttered to himself.

“Hey boss,” Jelly Bean sighed, putting down the box of supplies he was holding onto the desk and briefly tipping his teeny tiny hat as a show of respect. Wiggles looked up from the books and rummaged through the box.

“Giant squirting flower, squeaky rubber hammer, keys to the clown car – “

“I gave the last of my cream pies to Buster and Flim Flam,” Jelly Bean said, solemnly removing a continuous stream of rainbow scarves from his sleeve before setting them down in the box. Wiggles grasped his hand.

“No reason to be down, son, we’re all real proud of you. It’s not every day that a clown gets a scholarship to the Patch Adams School of Medical Clowning.” Wiggles reached under his desk and brought out a basket. “Here, me and the peanut gallery all went in on something.”

“Surgical grade spray seltzer! An air horn stethoscope!” Tears welled up in Jelly Bean’s eyes and streaked through his greasepaint as he reached into the center of a latex glove balloon bouquet to remove the jovial congratulatory card you see here for sale today.

“Never forget where you come from, son,” Wiggles said, blowing his nose loudly into one of the rainbow scarves. “Now get the hell out of my office and go save some lives.”