Posted on 08/08/2010 6:26:33 AM PDT by lowbridge
Confronted by 60 cannibal tribesmen carrying spears, Larry Harmon recalled what the grizzled Aussie bush pilot had said upon dropping him off at the airstrip. “You ain’t coming out of them jungles, mate. Your head’ll be on a stick before nightfall.”
Harmon could have run. But not very fast. He was wearing clown shoes.
Larry Harmon was Bozo the Clown. And it was this total Bozo’s big idea to risk his life in the most impenetrable place on earth — the 1960s wilds of New Guinea — to test his theory that “joy and laughter” were universal, that goodwill, affability and, well, funny-looking red hair crossed all borders and cultures. “Bozo could protect me. Bozo could be my guide,” Harmon said.
So the clown, in full makeup and costume, stood face to face with a village elder, each eyeing the true oddity of the other. One had a red nose, the other a bone in his nose. One had paint on his face, and . . . so did the other, actually. Bozo cracked a big clownish smile and let out a “Yuh-yuh-yuh!” chuckle — and, tough crowd or not, the tribesmen all grinned and laughed as well. Bozo would live to clown another day.
Such are the bizarre tales in “The Man Behind the Nose,” Harmon’s new memoir, that sets out to show that not all clowns are sad on the inside.
(Excerpt) Read more at nypost.com ...
Sounds like Bozo liked to tell some tall tales, too.
He would’ve tasted funny anyway (somebody was bound to say it)...
A roasting clown, on an open fire, is a good clown.
Nah, you roast mimes. You boil clowns.
I was once driving behind a slow car. It was weaving in and out of traffic. As I took advantage of an opening in the other lane, i commented to my wife, “Who is this “f-ing” clown....”
As we drove by, some idiot dressed like a clown flipped me the bird.
I hate clowns. I always have. My brother was on the local Bozo show. I told the cub scout group that I wouldn’t go.
But, a clown being eaten by cannibals would put a smile on my face.
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