Today the Human Cannonball is going to tell you that he'd like to go out on some serious auditions.
"I think I'd make a hell of a leading man," he'll say. "I've been performing for about fifteen years. I got the chops."
By performing, he means he's been putting on a lubricated body suit and shimmying into the mouth a cannon so that a small explosion can send him flying fifty feet into a large net. The only thing he has to offer a role are his physical dimensions (narrow) and his weight, which make him ideal for the role of "ammunition." And it hasn't been fifteen years. It's been thirteen. He's counting the two years when he first ran away from home and got work cleaning out the cannon at the end of the night.
Say, "We're gonna need some new headshots."
He'll ask why. Explain that all of his pictures depict him poking out of a cannon with large goggles covering most of his face.
"You don't want to be typecast," tell him.
He'll agree and he'll tell you that he's going to start saving. Which he won't be able to do. He's hooked on pain pills.
Happy You Are The Human Cannonball's Agent Day!
