Excerpt from "A Clown's Life: The Authorized Biography of Bingo the Cyberclown"

Story by Dave Neal. Formatting by Solace.

The Characters:

Bingo The Cyberclown: A heavily-augmented former soldier. His skin is bleached and he has green hair. His appearance and manner can best be described as "freakish."

BINGO: *fffffffp* Lemme tellya about some of the creampuffs I've run around with. *burp* *scratch scratch* First off, there was this chump who went by the name of, oh, what the hell was it -- *fffffffffffffffp* mmmm, oh yeah, Gambit. Sheeeeit. What a pudknocker that boy was. He swishes out into a damned firefight wavin' a friggin bo stick -- *ffffffffffffp* -- yeah, he lasted long, let me tellya. Was like this --

        *witha witha witha* (quarterstaff) -- "Face me, scoundrels!!" BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP! *thud*

Yeah, sucker didn't believe in body armor, neither -- said it slowed him down. Ha! Ole Gam-bit the dust pretty quick. *fffffffffffffp* Hey, pissant, you got anymore scotch tucked away in this dive? *burrrrrrp*

[a couple of drinks later]

Nuther sucker was this guy callin' himself B.G. -- Big Gun -- (rolls his eyes) -- yeah, I know what yer thinkin. *pfffffffffffffp* Can't verify what's what, although the hoser wore an armored codpiece. Yeah, no shit. *burp* Hey, I just worked with these folks, you shiv? I mean, they come in all types, Christ almighty. Far as I know, the pissant had a thing for those Gibb brothers, hell I dunno why he named himself that. *ffffffffffffap*

(leans forward) Lemme tell you, that sumbitch is CRAZY. Yeah, fucker went and got himself wired out the wazoo -- *glug glug glug* Gimme another one of those, kid. *glug glug glug* Ahhhhhh...

Thanks, sport. Yeah, ole Beej got himself tanked up pretty fuckin fierce. Let's just say there's a full-time staff keeping the sucker up and running -- and the boy can RUN, lemme tell you -- fly by wire -- sheesh, he's a sick motherfucker. Probably turned his damn brain to meatloaf in the process. Fucker's on autopilot these days. *ffffffffffffp* Some kids, y'know, they lose all their -- whassit called? Panache -- I mean, less is more, right?

INTERVIEWER: And yet you have a tactical computer in your head. I mean, where do you get off saying something like that? You were just showing off that new washboard stomach you'd bought, how did you term it "shrink-wrapped off the fuckin shelf" -- aren't you being just a little hypocritical there, Mr. Bingo?

B: Wha -- okay, Mr. Liberal Datajackoff Newsfuck -- look, I'm not sayin' I'm pure as Detroit snow or nothin -- I'm just sayin there's a line (holds up hands in front of face of interviewer) -- and most of us are, like, here. And I'm sayin' some of us go over there. And when you get over there, it's like one of them teeter-totters, cept you don't come back -- s'like a one-way trip, shiv? Beej took that cyber-fuckin Acapulco cliff dive, right? And the boy ain't comin back from that one. *fffffffp* He's comin back in a damned body bag, one o' these days, and the pissheads'll drop his ass in a vat and salvage all the damned parts and put'em in some other sucker. *ffffffffffffp*

I: ...like they did with Jingles, your arch rival?

B: Jesus fuck, kid, whasswith this "arch rival" shit? Lemme tell you who the fuck Jingles was -- he was a psycho fuckin fan, right? One of those weirdass stalker types, and he wants to be like his childhood hero, and gets his dwarf ass wired up and becomes a fuckin cyberclown. Bitch never had any damn style -- I mean the fucker bought it at Danno's Hot Dog Stand in the friggin Ork Underground -- a hot dog stand!

I: (rifles through notes) That would've been, eh, Abigail Normal? She's missing, isn't she?

B: Yeah, she's gone loco -- it just happens. Kids these days, I tellya -- *fffffffffffp* No class. None of'em got any damn class.

I: (skeptically) But you do...

B: Fuck yeah, squirt. I got fistfuls of freakin' class -- I got style oozing from my pores, baby. You kids who ain't never run, you know, you don't know shit about how we see stuff. *fffffffffp* It's a totally different ballgame.

I: Examples?

B: *glug* *urrrrrrrrp* Hmph. Well, lemme tell you what I'm thinking right now. I'm wondering how many times I'd have to dribble yer friggin head off that plate glass behind you before it breaks -- the glass, not yer head.

Like if I just picked you up by yer shortpants n' suspenders and hauled you over there and used you as a freakin battering ram. My TC tells me I can name that tune in about four notes -- *whack whack whack whack* and I'd be through it -- or you'd be through it, more like.

I: That...that's horrible. How can you think something like that?

B: (leans forward, grinning at interviewer) Because I can, kid. Because I can.