It’s a great time to be alive and an American internet smart ass. The crazy can be pretty goddamn funny sometimes. That wacky meatball loving, masturbation denying, teabagging wingnut cupcake, Christine O’Donnell, is dishing up more straight lines than Zeppo Marx, Bud Abbot or Ed McMahon did in a lifetime of second bananahood. Or is that bananadom? Yeah, I know, Zeppo was a fourth banana but he was the straight man.
Now where was I? Not only has the Delaware ditz released a teevee ad that begins with “I’m not a witch” and ends with “I’m you” but her kinfolks have injected the name of a revered American icon into this election cycle.That’s right: Bozo the Clown. Is nothing sacred?
Apparently, Ms. O’Donnell’s brother has been claiming that their father was Bozo in the City of Brotherly Booers.Pater O’Donnell has clarified this pressing matter:
“Who told you I was Bozo?” he wanted to know.
“Your son,” I said, at which point he confirmed that yes, he was Bozo, but not an official, full-time certified Bozo, more of a part-time Bozo.
“To be an official Bozo, you had to go to a special school in Texas,” explained Mr. O’Donnell. He never did. Instead, he was asked to fill-in for the official Bozos whenever they would have to travel out of the Philadelphia area for acting gigs.
“They would leave, I would come in and work for two or three weeks, whatever, until the regular Bozo came back,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “I was the fill-in Bozo.” He worked out of a local station in Jenkintown, Pa., he said, adding that station employees did his make-up and hair. He would also do remote appearances, got to supermarkets, meet kids, sign autographs and ride around in the Bozo Mobile. His son Daniel was his assistant.
Damn, he got to ride around in the Bozo Mobile? That’s almost as good as driving theWiener Mobile. I am so fucking jealous, man. I always wanted to be a backup Bozo. Oops, that came out wrong…
After writing that last paragraph, I paused to pinch myself. We’re talking about the United States Senate: an august, albeit impotent, chamber full of pompous windbags and we’re debating Bozo the Clown? Sounds right to me.
Once again, Firesign Theatre says it best:
I wish I could have some scrumptious bozoberry jam right now but I doubt that they still make it, he said, too lazy to use the Google. It may have been removed from the market because it gave diners an overwhelming desire to don white face, rubber noses and mince about in shoes too big even for Shaq.
Repeat after me: mmm, bozoberry jam.