On the Road with Quixote

"You are the worst clown I have ever met," Don Quixote said with as much disapproval as he could muster. The clown sniffed.

"And you're crazy, old man," he replied, picking at a piece of lint on his blue-and-yellow motley.

The knight-errant brushed the insult off with a wave of his high-plumed hat. "Yes, but I have an excuse. You are a clown. Yet in all our time together, you have never... _clowned_."

"If you think I'm going to do something funny just for your amusement, then you're crazier than I thought." The clown punctuated the thought with a rude gesture and rolled onto his back.

Quixote sensed the conversation was going nowhere. "What I mean, my friend, is that I must question why you go around dressed as you are when you so desperately want to be taken seriously. Doesn't that strike you as _contrary_?"

"Maybe." The clown scrunched his mouth into a frown. "So what?" He rolled onto his side, his back to the knight. "Shut up about it and go to sleep."

"Ah, sleep, the great cla-"

"Shut up, old man."