Jumbo's Clown Interactive Rumpus Room

As you well know, BloggyBlog is nothing if interactive. You just tell me what sort of crazy stunt you want me to perform any time of day and I await your request via our exclusive "1-800" line or in the readers' comments section. As you can see on the live Bloggy-Cam below, I reside in a cramped low-budget video studio. I'm here for your entertainment beck and call, clad only in my Depends briefs and reclined on a circular rotating water bed. I'm all yours, although Larry King sometimes comes 'round to visit unannounced.

It's all part of promoting the betterment of society in the electronic age.

Live Video Feed

I hope my colleagues at work are reading this to see just how plugged into technology I really am!

The New Used Car Smell

I recently bought a new used car. I'm OK with most everything about it but someone at the dealership sprayed the interior with some sort of new car smell. Or, perhaps, the previous owner was a stripper at Jumbo's Clown Room because it smells like the cheapest, gamiest, perfume in the world.

It makes me wonder how many lunkheads, finding themselves dubious as to the purchase of a used car, were brought over the threshold by the seductively tacky new car smell? I'd personally prefer the moldy sandwich under the seat essence, if given the choice. At least the object can be located and removed --or dangled fetchingly from the rear-view mirror.

Can anyone recommend an antidotes for getting rid of the fake new car smell so that my shallow consumerist world won't be unsettled?

The Gang's All Decapitated

I won't try too hard to distance myself from the fact that there are two films of the musical genre that I can actually watch, being that I'm just that secure with my masculinity. They are "The Wizard of Oz" and "The Gang's All Here". The latter film, by far the most bizarre, is noteworthy because it has a finale segment sung by various disembodied heads.

The movie is bookended by heads singing over a neutral background. This floating head sings a stirring rendition of "Brazil" in the open of The Gang's All Here.

proto cool: slouchy & stoned benny goodman

better hide, 'cause he's a shark that can't go in reverse

a journey into edward everett horton's nostril

the gang's a colony of bacterium under a microscope

The Gang's all Here not only features songs sung by disembodied heads but also features a child's hand that glides off the wrist and morphs into an electric parade float.

the lovely severed paw

a procession of women from venus proceed to remove the neon hoops from the giant sleeve (above) and rotate 'em around in unison. yes, we've seen it all a million times. it's a technicolor fever dream for the entire family.

What I like about this whole spectacle is that it all happens gloriously for no apparent reason other than to freak you out. This film, directed by Busby Berkeley in the early 40's, delivers a bold style that pushes into the Avant-garde but I don't think most people even know it exists --although they DO subconsciously , because it features the famous number with Carmen Miranda and her damn hat o'fruit.

finally, everything makes sense!

Soul-Sucking Cat at Large

I don't know about you but, for as long as I can remember, I've enjoyed making a certain ridiculous voice that can only be accomplished by inhaling while talking. It's a kind of sound that can be funny to some but the effect can also drive other people completely mad, which is even more satisfying.

So now I see that MY inhale-voice thing has been stolen for a Dairy Queen commercial and I don't mind saying that I feel extremely violated. Here's my single most defining routine, something I've nurtured and shaped to perfection over the years... it's a voice I was going to use on some future animation project and then I see it being cynically one-offed for the sake of some kind of "flamethrower" sandwich.

I can't believe it. I give up.

The Coolest Cereal Pusher Man

The following vintage clip from YouTube shows cereal pitchman Sugar Bear saving Granny Goodwitch from "Mad Vitamin Stealer" Victor Vicious. In the years that followed his rise to "Bear of the Hour" and subsequent fall into oblivion and madness, scholars have wracked their brains over just what made this paradoxical character so cool, so charismatic, and yet so destructive to tooth enamel.



While the symbolism in this TV spot might require volumes of data to deconstruct, I'll attempt to make it all very simple without sugar-coating the facts. First, let's be frank: Sugar Bear was a known Quaalude abuser, as evidenced by his tell-tale lazy eyelids from photos of the period. Furthermore, his entire adult life was devoted to getting children hooked on mountains of processed sugar. Make no mistake, he was shrewd and he was cunning. He made us laugh; he made us cry. Yet, we loved him in spite of all that he put us through, even more than Danny Bonaduce.

Born in a simple log cabin in 1962, leaving a nasty placenta stain on the kitchen table, Sugar Bear was a precocious banjo-player who appropriated the old-school cocktail suave of Bing Crosby and upgraded it into a more accessible druggy vernacular. His entire wardrobe consisted solely of a blue turtleneck sweater and no pants, which was very de Rigeur amongst Greenwich Village poets of the day.

Few lives are without contradictions. Likewise, there were controversies and questions as to the bear's loyalties. It all started when Sugar Bear was invited to lecture at a Marxist training camp in North Korea in the summer of 1968, where he was welcomed as a revolutionary hero. He made various trips to other Iron Curtain countries, only to quietly return to his corporate Post Cereal job until President Reagan banned him from returning to the States during the 80's.

Sugar Bear was a protege of Timothy Leary as well as close friend and confidant to Bobby Seale, Eldridge Cleaver, and Barry Goldwater. He was an enigma and a two-dimensional character; a friend and foe; a lover and a fighter; alpha and omega, cheese grater and processed cheese in a can. Still, in the final analysis, he was a devoted and loving husband to his wife Maxine and their three kids: Stoolie, Crapper, and Grunter --no matter how much human carnage he left in his wake.

"it smells in your piss"

Is anyone still reading this? To win your prize, compose a sentence using the word "dungarees" in the comments' section. Thanks for playing.

Big Scoop: Lennon vs. Spiderman

We all know that John Lennon stole or "nicked" his song ideas from the likes of Cole Porter, Jimmy Osmond and Frank Sinatra. Well, here's yet another Gotcha Exclusive from the folks at Bloggy-Blog! We have Side-by-side evidence that Lennon's hippie protest song John Sinclair was a blatant rip-off of the popular 60s' TV cartoon Spiderman.

Push HERE for smoking gun.

[note: If you play it backwards it goes: "Richard Nixon is my very favorite pal". ...but that's for another post]

Lyndon BBQ Beans Johnson --Eat My Words

Anyone else out there having trouble with the "My Bad!" expression? It's still making the rounds and, subsequently, upsetting my sleep cycle. I'm wondering if one can actually petition the Gov't to drive a lame expression out of circulation ? The thought gives me hope. After all, the City of New York has just done it with the "N"-word but that's another discussion. That's for mature people. That's not what we do here.

On the other hand, the popular exclamation "Awesome!" has survived much longer than I expected and I've sort of adapted to it. Just when I thought "awesome!" was dead, it returns, enjoying waves of resurgence. "Awesome" got a lucky break. It works amongst dunderheads and the Urban Chic alike (and aren't they really the same anyway?). It's an equal-opportunity Republican or Democrat. "Awesome" is a changeling; a betrayer AND a lover. "Awesome" can stay but must be watched carefully.

So well-done "Awesome"! Hats off to you. However, "my bad" is no "awesome".