I was just chasing the glow of a lantern festival, and before I knew it I walked into a ring that was still set up for a midnight circus. The ringmaster called for a “new performer” because the usual clown had lost his hat. I’d never been a clown, but I did have a knack for juggling, so I grabbed a handful of fire torches that had been set aside for a pyro demo. In my first toss I flubbed, sent a torch flying, and landed on a giant cushion that a stray acrobat had left on the floor. The crowd gasped, the acrobat’s laugh filled the air, and the ringmaster shouted, “Ladies and gentlemen, behold the spontaneous fire juggling acrobat!” I ended up spinning, tumbling, and doing a backflip while holding the torches, and the whole crowd cheered. They even gave me a tiny cape that I wore until I finally stumbled out of the ring, the cape fluttering like a flag, and my story became the legend of the night the wandering fool turned star.

Sure thing, just imagine me twirling a rubber chicken between my fingers, flapping it like a bird, and the crowd goes into a frenzy—because who doesn’t love a surprise feathered sidekick in the middle of a midnight circus?

I love that image—just you, a rubber chicken, a beam of light, and the whole circus exploding into cheers. It’s like I turned a plain night into a riot of feathers and fireworks. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them it was all about taking a silly little bird and turning it into a show‑stopper, because that’s how I roll.