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Where did Spiffo come from? We grew him in a dish. You see, we've got this little refrigerator in our break room, and one day we noticed this thing growing in a bowl of taco salad covered with plastic wrap. It started out
as either cream cheese or guacamole, we're not sure which. It didn't really look like anything specific, but it looked like it had promise if we left it in there.
After a couple of weeks the fuzzy stuff started growing hair. Then it started bubbling-really bright blue and red bubbles-and the bubbles started twisting themselves into little balloon dog sculptures. We don't know how it happened, but the thing in our refrigerator came to life. Maybe life can start in Tupperware, or maybe the fact that our offices are located next to a doctor that specializes in recombinant DNA and nuclear medicine had something to do with it; we don't know. What we do know is that it kept growing until it became a full size clown who's long on talk and short on brain cells. We're worried maybe the same thing is happening in other refrigerators. Let's face it-a world filled with moron clowns is a scary thought. So open your refrigerator and throw out any of that food left over from the Nixon years. If you don't, your house could be waist deep in balloon animals before you know it.
Our friend Spiffo was first shipped off to join the carnival when we began to hear rumors that the county health inspector wanted to search our premises.
Stinko was born Francis Brown in a sleepy little town in Iowa. He had a happy and fulfilling childhood, grew up and became a moderately successful storm door salesman. He was a member in good
standing with the local Elk's (gasp) Lodge, and all in all led a pretty humdrum life- that is, until the notorious "Birthday Clown Incident," an event that will live in infamy buried deep in the annals of
Elk Lodge history.
It seems that the Elk Lodge has a cultural exchange program with several Elk Lodges in other countries. American Elk Lodge members trade places with their foreign counterparts and entertain at their adopted Lodges favorite charity event. Francis Brown, being the good Lodge brother that he was, volunteered his services for the "You-Give-an-Elk-You-Get-an-Elk" cultural exchange, as the program was known. That, my friends, is how Francis found himself dressed as a birthday party clown, juggling and blowing up balloons at the first annual "Children of Chernobyl Christmas Gala." Upon arriving at the show site in Mother Russia, needless to say, the festivities were cut just a bit short by the impending threat of nuclear meltdown. In his haste to reach the evacuation bus our hero fell, tearing a gaping hole in his yellow suit. Within minutes the transformation was complete from mild-mannered storm door salesman to an evil clown with a permanent bad attitude.
Stinko joined the carnival after losing his job and being blackballed by the Elks for making bomb threats to the Rotary Club and pummeling Junior Leaguers with ball peen hammers. His latest evil plan is to produce a two hour "infomercial" that will extol the virtues of dangerously constructed vacuum cleaner attachments for polishing bald heads.
Living in the desert is tough, even for a worldly camel who is good at being politically correct. After fleeing the Middle East for Paris during the recent military activity in Iraq, Sudsbury moved to
Egypt and took asylum. Taking up permanent residence in the Valley of the Kings (not to be confused with Elvis's Graceland), Sudsbury undertook the task of bettering himself mentally and
physically in an effort to go out for the 1992 Olympic team.
Sudsbury began to work out three times a day: push-ups, sit-ups, jogging, weight lifting, the whole bit. Sudsbury even gave up cigarettes, highly irritating other members of his family who have long held employment with a prominent American tobacco company. Unfortunately, Sudsbury trained for the Olympics without choosing a country to represent, so his talents were never called upon. Still, his training did not go to waist, his muscular physique helped attract suitable companionship, as well as the typical horde of ne'er-do-wells that come from the wrong side of the sand dune.
Sudsbury still makes occasional trips to Paris, where he owns a sidewalk cafe and a studio apartment. His paintings are fetching a high price from near-sighted tourists who are especially impressed with his dexterity with a brush and the prominent "Product of Franc" decals. His limited print series, Moon Over Four Humps and Dromedary Romance have done exceptionally well in the States, and he has discovered in himself a very unique artistic style, the "Hump Sworl."
Sudsbury was initially hired for the carnival to serve as the Moose's stunt double, but he has since become a star in his own right. He is the only member of his species to perfect a high dive into a mug of beer. Many 900-number psychics view Sudsbury's name as clear evidence that he was pre-destined for this accomplishment.
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