Vacation Disaster

My wife and I wanted to do something different on our vacation, so we volunteered to work for a traveling carnival stopping in our town.
The leader, a burly, cigar smoking man named Hos, told us we'd get a bed and three meals a day in a low end motel out on the highway. Hey, we said, it's only for two weeks. It won't kill us.
To make a long story short, it was a disaster. Arlene and I broke out in hives whenever Leatherman was around. An allergy to leather skin? The Fat Lady propositioned me half a dozen times. Arlene flirted with Elastic Man. The Two Headed Goat Monster squirted milk all over my new Avengers t-shirt. Bedbugs abounded. The animals, especially the snakes, were cranky. The Flying Ambersons, the high wire act, came down with violent hiccups, throwing off their timing.
The food was awful--we ate at Arby's all 14 days. The Human Torch miscalculated and burned his shins during a show. I was asked to fill in, but fire scares me, and, besides, I hurt my back wrestling with one of the carnies out of boredom.
The clowns were drunk from noon on, The Human Porcupine accidentally punctured some kid's balloon, leading to a fight between him and the father. Arlene and I were exhausted and frazzled by the end of the two weeks.
One of our tires was slashed. I'm guessing it was the ringmaster, whose tights were so loose you could see his butt crack. He didn't seem appreciative when I told him.