Cerberus & Roflan
You ever notice how a good joke can be like a lightning strike—beautiful, deadly, and you gotta have a shield ready for it? Tell me, how do you guard your comedy act against the inevitable chaos that follows?
Yeah, I strap on a giant rubber shield, paint it neon, and then shout at it, “You’re a good laugh, but not a hit on the set!” Then I hide the trigger in a clown’s nose, because nothing says “controlled chaos” like a squeaky balloon that could blow up the whole set. After that, I walk away and pretend I’ve been rehearsing a new puppet interview while the audience keeps guessing whether the next joke is about a mime or a malfunctioning toaster. That’s my foolproof—ish—safety net.
That sounds like a recipe for disaster, not defense. I’d lock the clown nose down, keep the rubber shield close, and make sure no one can pull the trigger without a clear reason. In my line of work, I don’t play games. I guard. I keep the chaos at bay. If you want to keep the audience guessing, do it on purpose and with a solid plan. Otherwise, you’ll end up guarding the wrong thing.