Who us, clowns?

Among a certain circle of people who frequent our national forests, there’s a decades-old term for the agency that oversees millions of acres: Forest Circus. It’s a facile play on “Forest Service,” of course, and a snide way of saying that bureaucracy does some freakish things, just like the Snake Man at the sideshow. It’s spoken in the same acidic tone as the old slang for our urban spoilsports: fuzz. And it’s a springboard for songwriters and, lately, merchandisers.

A verse and chorus of Montana poet-songwriter Greg Keeler’s 1990 song “The Forest Circus” goes like this:

Step right up to the big top,

Over here you tax payin’ rubes

‘Cause right behind this curtain,

You’ll see Mother Nature’s boobs.

That’s right we’re gonna strip her

Of her last few virgin trees

So all of us can gawk at her

From her head down to her knees.

At the Forest Circus,

get your tickets at the gate,

But you better make it snappy

‘Cause the hour is gettin’ late.

Yes, at the Forest Circus,

the big top show is on

Here in the land of many uses,

So let’s use it till it’s gone.

And www.forestcircus.com, peddler of T-shirts printed with the logo above, spiels:

“Ever had one of these weird experiences, had a friend that has, want to just express yourself about the unwieldy egotism of the many bureaucracies we are forced to live with and who seem to forget that we pay their salaries? Here’s your chance. You’ve said it for years. Now wear it!”

Go ahead. Step right up, folks. Here’s your chance to make that next run-in with a ranger extra special.