He performed his routine flawlessly. His jokes were succinct, but had the audience in stitches. “Nothing like a little sarcasm to get people laughing,” he always said.
From there he progressed into his dancing dogs stint. The children were regularly amused by the cavorting canines. He used to turn somersaults with the mutts, but he’d gotten too old to try gymnastics.
Lastly, the part where he needed audience participation. A little magic and cruelly timed jokes seemed to make the crowd raucous. He always ended with a smile and a wave. The clapping was often thunderous.
But then one day, the joy died. He still performed as precise as before, but the sadness took over. He realized that deep down, people were heartless. Why else would they laugh at other’s expense?
The depression got the best of him when he over heard his colleagues talking. “There goes the saddest clown I’ve ever seen.” So he performed one last show, smiled, waved, then pulled a gun and blew his brains into the laughing publics’ face.