The Littlest Human Cannonball

After spending hundreds of dollars on diapers, doctors and some soft rags for the makeshift nursery we created in a crawlspace, I finally found a way to make some bucks off of WeeZ. I was minding my own, just kicking back, when I heard a knock on our door. It was a small man in a big hat--a top hat--and he told me a wondrous tale of a place where there are tricycle-riding bears, death-defying trapezists, and clowns so scary you'll shit yourself. The circus!

It didn't take me long to realize that I could lessen the burden of WeeZ's apparently endless food requirements while at the same time allow him to learn valuable lessons about hard work, obedience, and plucking rubes. Mer was, inexplicably, opposed to the plan. I won her over with reason and subterfuge, and soon the boy was on his way to the big top. Unfortunately, child labor laws ultimately sounded the death knell for WeeZ's future as a carnie. He barely got past the first day's human cannonball training. Luckily, the investigating agencies let him keep the cool orange cap. It's meant to fit beneath the helmet and is lined with asbestos for those times when the helmet explodes into flame.