In the same way we don’t know how Balto’s remains ended up in Cleveland, Ohio, we can only speculate on which pit of hell mimes crawled and scraped their way out of to silently torment innocent passerbys. Black grime underneath their cracked fingernails, toothy dagger-like grins sliced across their pale white faces, putrid hellfire pulsing through their veins with every thudding beat of their hate-filled hearts. In an otherwise perfectly peaceful world with no problems whatsoever they plague us with their existence and deceiving gestures. They saunter among us with nothing but contempt as they find the most public of places to demonstrate unspeakable things.
Having no time to interview scientists due to the fast-approaching deadline, we assume world-leading biologist believe that the first mime was actually a deaf person too stubborn to learn sign language. The fact sign language is the least spoken language in the world would gives credence to this theory.
Our belief, after consulting our own personal demons, is that mimes have much more nefarious origins. Their movements while at quick glance seem innocent enough are actually the rehearsing of impish tortures they will mete out in the fiery pits of the underworld. Right in our very faces they demonstrate how our wicked will be disciplined upon the expiration of their mortal coil.
The box mimes love to pretend they’re trapped in, that’s a reenactment of a damned soul forever trapped in a prison cell not tall enough to stand up, not long enough to lay down.
That rope they love to pull. That’s the leash tied around the scrawny neck of a newly arrived sinner being dragged to the office cube farm for excruciations.
That ladder they’re climbing. That’s the corporate ladder of the underworld promoting them to more wicked devices.
The next time you’re waiting in front of the Louvre to see some art work you could have looked up online with Ask Jeeves, and a grown adult with face paint, incapable of even using the whisper of their library voice forces you to take part in their ad hoc charades contest, don’t make eye contact because you’ll find yourself doing the devil’s work. And if you complain to the police they’ll merely state that mimes, “have the right to remain silent.”
Damn you, Miranda!
Satan’s spokesperson, Mother Teresa, met with us through a Ouija board and has expressed concern with this new, younger generation of mimes. “They don’t train mimes like they used to, this new breed, these influencers, it just seems like they’re going through the motions.”
To date, the only known defense against mimes is tossing scalding water in their face. This pains them so because you boiled the heck out of it.
If incubi and succubae kill you with love, mimes keep us alive with hate insisting that we all exist within their box, as if we’re a species of basic bitches.
While we continue to exist in this tumultuous world we can thank Baal that the threat of a mime takeover is always held at bay because they’re incapable of becoming motivational speakers.