Whizzo Theme Song
Who's always smiling, never sad? It's Whizzo! Who makes the boys and girls so glad, Whizzo.
He's a merry fellow with a big red shiny nose, Dressed in crazy mixed up clothes From his head down to his toes...
I am quite certain that no one sets out to raise an ax murderer. Sometimes it just works out that way. Sometimes the most loving, well-intentioned parents produce sociopaths despite their best efforts. Society holds mothers completely responsible for everything from stuttering to nuclear holocaust.
There is no way to predict which memories will imprint on the Pla-Doh brains of small children. We hope that it will be the images of unicorns, glitter, and homemade cookies that fill the Samsonite luggage that kids carry into adulthood. Unfortunately, there is no way to know until much later.
Dora the Explorer may seem like a positive role model now, but I guarantee twenty years from now their will be a nutty-as-squirrel-shit guy somewhere blaming his attraction to monkeys on his poor mother for making him watch Dora. She thought he was learning Spanish. He had monkeys on his mind. How was she to know?
How was Big Judes (My Mom) to know about Whizzo? There was no way she could have. Whizzo was a clown that had his own show Saturday mornings on WIBW Channel 13 in Topeka Kansas. Moms loved Whizzo. Whizzo was good. Whizzo entertained kids on Saturday morning so mommies could vacuum and dust without interruption. If you were a “lucky” kid, you could celebrate your birthday on TV with Whizzo. What could be bad about a clown, right? Wrong.
Whizzo was not a "merry fellow". Whizzo was a creepy, child-hating, whiskery old man who dressed as a clown and terrorized small children on Saturday mornings for more than thirty years.
Whizzo had a “big red shiny nose” because he was a drunk. There was nothing funny about Whizzo. He did not have big clown shoes. He had big clown feet! Nasty, ugly, two foot long feet with horrible blue toes.
Whizzo had a red and white umbrella that he would spin at the camera in an effort to hypnotize his preschool audience. I suspect he then got his kicks by making a bunch of five year olds cluck like chickens and bark like dogs while they were entranced. I do not know for sure because I hid my head in the couch cushions. There was no way I was looking at that damn umbrella. I was too smart for Whizzo.
Whizzo made more kids cry than the dentist. Many times, they would cry right on TV. He would pull a volunteer from the audience then ask impossible questions. Ignoring the unwritten rules of personal space, he would lean into their faces with his make-up caked wrinkles and breathe whisky and stale cigarettes on them. Those unfortunate children are probably still in therapy. I should probably be in therapy. I bet you could trace many of my issues straight back to Whizzo. I owe Big Judes a huge apology. Whizzo did this to me, Damn Him!
I Hate You Whizzo!