Barnaby Button, a man whose physique suggested he’d spent more time perfecting the art of napping than physical exertion, harbored a secret dream: Circus hopeful? You won’t BELIEVE IT! He longed to be a trapeze artist.
Unfortunately, Barnaby’s attempts to practice his aerial skills in his backyard usually ended with him tangled in the low-hanging branches of his apple tree. “Drat it all!” he’d exclaim, dangling upside down, as Mrs. Higgins, his neighbor, chuckled from behind her prize-winning petunias.
One day, Barnaby decided he needed professional help. He signed up for a “Beginner’s Acrobatic Arts” class at the local community center, taught by a stern, muscular woman named Brenda.
“Alright, Button,” Brenda boomed on the first day, “let’s see what you’ve got!”
Barnaby, emboldened by the presence of other slightly less coordinated individuals, launched himself towards the low-hanging ropes. He swung… briefly. Then, with a yelp, he plummeted to the padded mat below, landing in a heap.
Brenda sighed. “Perhaps,” she said, her voice dripping with irony, “we should start with something a little… simpler.”
For the next few weeks, Barnaby tried everything. Juggling (he mostly juggled apples from his tree, resulting in bruised fruit and injured squirrels). Balancing (he managed to balance a feather on his nose for a whole two seconds). Even clowning (his makeup skills were… terrifying).
Finally, Brenda called him aside. “Button,” she said, her expression surprisingly gentle, “I admire your persistence, but perhaps the acrobatic arts aren’t your…forte.”
Barnaby drooped, his circus dream deflating like a punctured balloon. “So, you’re saying I’m not circus material?”
Brenda smiled. “Not exactly. You see, we have a slightly… unique role that we think you would be PERFECT for. It involves a very large net, a safety harness, and the distinct ability to scream loudly. You, my friend, are going to be our official… ‘Human Safety Test Dummy.'”
