... they put a clown on the moon (clown on the moon).
Well,not exactly the moon, but them pesky Ruskies have put a clown in space. Any clown-phobics out there? He's up there, looking down at you!
Nah, don't panic, he can't reach you with his squirty flower; if he pressed the squeezy bulb the reaction would send him flying off in the vague direction of Uranus (did you see what I did there?).
Speaking of which, in order to avoid offending the sensibilities of the Moral Majority, from 2010, Uranus is to be renamed...
Urectum.
That joke used by kind permission. Thanks, Luke. And now back to our regular broadcast.
The Russians didn't send him up there as some kind of Commmedia dell'arte skit - no, Mr Baggysleeves paid Brer Oligarch thirty million US red-noses (thats 22,000,000 battered boaters sterling) for the privilege.
Dat's an offal lotta buckets full of silver confetti being chucked at an audience, brothers and sister. Are we on a wavelength here?
You bet we are. I'm off to paint my face white with a teardrop trickling from the corner of my eye. That teardrop isn't make-up by the way. That's me crying 'cause I chose the wrong career.
Now where's that square-wheeled car of mine? (*parp*)
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