u/MihkaelFournier

They never go anywhere without a rattle.

(Twang humor)

Mojo’s first selfie, taken at Ritual Noize Fest 2026.

(Lord Thrall is the bassist for Lords of Acid)

From another photo shoot. We even rented parade floats for this one.

Every year, the City of St. Petersburg would host the Tampa Bay AIDS Walk. This was an awareness raising fundraiser that brought in people from all over the state to participate in a 5k around downtown to support HIV/AIDS services, specifically for ASAP (AIDS Service Association of Pinellas).

We gathered at Vinoy Park the year we went, meeting up at the finish line to cheer on the participants as they reached the end of the “race.” Ting met us there along with Murtle Turtle. They stood on one side of the track, and Twang and I on the other.

It wasn’t long before that summer sun started to bake that makeup right on our faces. I mean, it was hot! In fact, when we got home that day, I watched actual steam coming off Twang’s head when she took off her wig. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the 5k.

Now, I brought up the heat that day because I want you to keep that in mind. After about ten minutes of waiting, the first few to cross the line came into view. They were a group known as “The Pink Flamingos,” led by a 6’6” Divine look-alike (spitting image, too) wearing stiletto heels.

A hundred or so drag queens followed – in heels, wearing thick tights, and sweating gallons under heavy wigs. We cheered them all on, giving high-fives, and even dancing with a few.

Then, in our final half-hour, things got a little… weird. After an afternoon filled with colorful outfits, one of the final groups came, about 20 of them, each donned in black shirts and blue jeans. They looked out of place, really… and, somehow, eager to see us.

It wasn’t until they were about a dozen yards away when we could see what the white letters on their shirts spelled out for us. In a simple, san-serif font were the words: “CLOWN F**KERS.”

For the records, I censored those words here, purely to save myself the “NSFW” tag. On those shirts, nothing was redacted. It was as family-friendly as finding a sex toy in your Happy Meal.

As one would expect, they were reeeaaalllly happy to see us. More specifically, they were beyond thrilled to see me in particular.

I’ll pause here for a moment so your imagination can run wild with this.

There. Feel better? Have you caught your breath yet? Did you picture something in your head that resembled a scene out of “Keystone Cops” or the end of “The Benny HIll Show?” Please allow me to assure you that wasn’t the case. Oh, I’m sure it could’ve been if I had ran. But, I stayed and cheered for them as they crossed the line… and, they all “cheered” for me as well.

Have I mentioned before that I get hit every time I put on makeup? That’s something Twang won’t let me forget.

(Photo: Murtle Turtle)

4. What inspired you to become a clown?

Honestly, I was always a clown. The makeup just allows me to be myself.

To elaborate on that, let me add that the red nose runs in the family. My mom’s a clown as well. Her name’s “Ting.” Point of fact, she was a clown long before me. She was a volunteer coordinator for Suncoast Hospice and a proud leading member of the “Smile Team.” (She started clowning in 2000 and started teaching it in 2008.)

The Smile Team were the caring clowns that Hospice sent out all over for all sorts of functions. They did rounds at assisted living facilities (ALFs), memory centers, Hospice Houses, and private home visits. They also went to conferences, seminars, and special events (such as the St. Pete AIDS Walk and the MDA Summer Camp), and whatever else they could think of where a clown might be needed. (Sadly, I never went to a job interview in clown. That’s still on my bucket list.)

Twang and I started clown college in January of 2010 after moving back to Florida the year prior. We were staying with Twang’s parents back then, and they helped talk us into doing this. (Twang’s mom even helped pick out the material for her outfit. Ting sewed it all together.)

Sadly, Twang’s mom suddenly passed while we were in clown college. Twang and I decided it would be best to continue with our classes to honor her mom’s memory. She would have loved our graduation show! We pulled her dad up to be a “volunteer” in our magic act as one of the three I took from the audience. (I started it out like a game show with that bit, giving all the “contestants” goofy names like “Bobby Sox” and “Harry Bottoms” rather than asking them who they were. Her mom loved the goofy names I came up with for my novel, “The Strange Case of Lester Mohr - or - Six and a Half Ways to Spend a Wooden Nickel,” so I did that for her.)

After we graduated, Twang and I became quite active with volunteering. In fact, we both came in as guest speakers a few times for the clown college and shared our experiences, and helped the students with makeup and outfit ideas. I even became a mentor, or a “Pal Joey,” for the wonderful and loving clown, “Y Knot."

5. Are you still clowning?

Funny I should ask. I just got back into it. See? 13 years ago, Twang and I moved back to Colorado. (We’re originally from Florida. Confused yet?) We were hoping to join an Alley up here, but that just wasn’t in our cards. Although there are some small Alleys here for hospital clowns, there wasn’t anything Hospice-related. I did ask around about clowning for retirement centers, ALFs, and wherever else I thought might need a clown. They were more than willing to have us come in and even offered us money for doing it if we could get vetted (they’re federally funded). That was something I always kept in mind while we were trying to move out of a motel and into anything that wasn’t one.

Sadly, that took about 5 years… and, by that time, Twang had a great job with the USPS and I was working the overnight shift at a convenient store, which left us no time to do it. Then, 2019 came – the worst year of my life. After work (Halloween morning), I slipped on a patch of ice and broke a shoulder blade. At the hospital, they did a CT scan on it and found a large mass in my lung. That turned out to be a tumor, and after a biopsy and a 2 month wait, I learned that I had Stage 4 non-small cell metastatic lung cancer.

What a lucky break, right? Had I not slipped on that ice, I would've never known I was that close to dying.

Sure, what followed afterward was a few years of pure hell. Chemo is no fun! Especially when you get it every 3 weeks!

Thankfully, I was only going through that for 5 months before my oncologist took me off of it. But, those 5 months took about 3 or 4 years to recover from. (I’m still on immunotherapy, which I started the same time I started the chemo. I’ll be on that for the rest of my days.)

I became remission responsive about 11 months after starting treatment – to just about everyone’s amazement, including my oncologist. (My primary doctor later told me that she had truly believed that I would pass before May 2020.) But, I was determined not to die. I told everyone that I’d kick cancer’s ass or die trying.

And, here it is… 2026. And, now, it’s time to put all this time I have on my hands to some good use. I have already lined up a private visit.

I have found that I’m a bit rusty, so I’ve dragged out the makeup and started practicing my face again – working on a new look, even. I’ve also started working on a new act. And, thankfully, I still have treatment to go to (every 6 weeks now), indefinitely. That’s a great place to practice my illusions and help others who are going through this battle as well.

6. Do you have any interests outside of clowning?

Well, I have written two novels so far (with several more in the works).Aside from that, my background’s in graphic arts, and I’m also a photographer. In fact, the grand majority of the photos I’ve posted, I took. Some of those photos have even been published in a couple of clown magazines.

These days, however, I spend most of my creative time painting rocks and “hiding” them just about everywhere for people to find. (This is something I have linked to Facebook. Check out the group “Lil_Stoners” for more information if you’re on there.)

(Photo: Y Knot and Mojo)

Let me give a little praise to those clowns who are skilled in twisting balloon animals. The last time I tried it, they called the ASPCA on me. I've also been told that PeTA now has me on a watch list.

​

A week or so after graduation, we were invited by one of our own clowns to do rounds at a memory center where she was the administrator. This would be an exciting day for us. I mean, we had shadowed before, but this would be our first time as leads.

When we arrived, we gathered in the lobby for a briefing on the guidelines the facility had put forth concerning the patients. This mostly covered HIPAA laws, but there was one protocol that stuck out to us. Even though some of the patients may have reverted back to their childhood mentally, they wanted us to treat them as adults. This was to “give them the respect they deserved.”

I held that thought in mind as we broke up into groups and started our rounds. Now, each group was assigned a “tour guide” who would take us around to the patients “bungalows” (living quarters) to ask them if they’d like a clown visit while we waited in the hallway. This was so we could avoid those who didn’t wish to see us (and those who were coulrophobic). Our guide would also let us know which patient we were seeing, how long they had been there, and a little about them (such as interests and hobbies) prior to knocking.

As we made our way down the first hallway, we noticed one patient – a tiny, elderly woman in a night gown and clinging to a teddy bear – was watching us from a distance. By the time we made it down to the end of the hall, she was watching us from around the corner. Our guide turned to us and told us that her name was Mary and that she had been there for about six months or so.

Ting turned to her and asked if we could sing for her. Mary came out from around the corner, nodded, and slowly walked towards us. Everything about her reminded me of a six year old child. The way she moved, her behavior, the look in her eyes… just like a first-grader seeing a circus for the first time.

Ting started singing “Mary had a Little Lamb” with Twang and I quickly joining in. Within seconds, Mary was lit up with joy. By the time the song was over, she was dancing around with the three of us in the hallway.

Next, we sang “She’d be Coming Around the Mountain,” then “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” By the time we were finished, Mary was glowing and floating on air. And, as we were saying our farewells, she turned to Ting and gently said, “Thank you.”

“That’s the first time Mary’s said a word since she’s been here,” our guide told us as we walked back to the lobby, “and all because you saw her as a child.”

Ting just smiled. She knew that it wasn’t Mary’s age that needed the respect, it was Mary herself.

A week later, we found that the facility decided to revise their policy a bit. We were also told that we had broken Mary out of her shell. She wasn’t just speaking again, she was telling stories.

Guess that’s just the power of happiness.

(Photo: Ting)

At the Fork in the Road, of course!

(Twang humor)

Now, I wake up at the quack of dawn.

(Twang humor)

They get to eat what bugs them.

(Twang humor.)

(More tales coming soon.)

Happy Mother's Day!

(Photo: Ladybug and Ting)

Ting the Caribbean Clown

Happy Mother's Day!

Circa 2011? 2012?

(I'm missing because I took the photo.)

Something tells me I should maybe separate the photos from the stories, so all of this is just a little less confusing. So... here's a photo without a story.

Is a picture really worth 1,000 words?

​

After doing rounds one day, we decided to treat ourselves to a nice white mocha at a Starbucks where a friend of ours, Lori, worked evenings. She hadn’t seen us in clown yet, so this was to be a surprise visit.

Quietly, we walked in to see her wiping down the back line. Without saying anything, we stood in the lobby watching as Lori and her co-worker (who was in the middle of cleaning the cappuccino machine) scrub away. Suddenly, her co-worker caught us out of the corner of her eye.

The look on her face was priceless! She spun around and shouted back to Lori, “You have GOT to see these two clowns that just walked in!”

“Oh my God! You can’t say that about the customers!” Lori scolded her co-worker, her back still to us.

“But, she’s right! We are clowns!” Twang exclaimed, still in character.

Somehow, I don’t think that was the response Lori was expecting by the way she 180’d. She damn near jumped right out of her own skin when she saw us.

Oh, it took Twang and I a good while to stop laughing over that one. I thought we were going to pass out from the lack of oxygen. I mean, we lost all sound halfway through. We just couldn’t breathe!

Sometimes, it’s just the little things…

(Photo: Twang)

We were still in our first few months of clowning when we were invited to do rounds at an ALF (Assisted Living Facility) in their “Bite Ward.” This, of course, meant we had to do a bit of prep beforehand. As most of us were still Joeys at the time, that meant “restraint training,’ just in case one of the patients turned violent on us., We had to learn how to protect ourselves without injuring that patient. And, as the name “Bite Ward” suggests, there was a high likelihood that we would have to use this training at some point in our future. Dementia is unpredictable by nature.

Unfortunately, that training only covered what to do if they became unruly. No one gave us instructions on what to do if they became flirtatious.

Five out of our Alley went that day, including my mother (Ting), my wife (Twang), and myself. Our little group had clowned a few times together by then, so we were familiar with everyone else’s routines. We were booked for about an hour (which usually meant we’d be there for an hour and a half, because… you know, we’re clowns). But, nothing that day would go as planned. Once those double doors with the digital lock box closed behind us, all our plans went out through the vents. (It’s a Bite Ward. There weren’t any windows,)

As soon as the patients saw a small, assorted collection of clowns come in, they dropped everything and flocked towards us like seagulls spotting a kid with french fries.

Within seconds, we were separated. I was cornered right away by a few… let’s say, elderly women who had the damnedest time keeping their hands to themselves. But, it wasn’t long before I was rescued by Ting and Twang. You know, once they finished laughing.

It took a spell for things to calm down enough, but as soon as it did, we started to make our rounds. That’s when I met Nina, a former thespian from Europe, and quite the star in her day.

Nina spoke something like twelve languages. English was just one of them - and it wasn’t her native tongue. However, she spoke it with the fluency of a porn star. Similar vocabulary as well.

When Nina became excited, she would switch languages on us, expecting us to understand what she had said. The nurse following us around had to keep reminding her, “English, Nina. English.” We heard that phrase every five minutes or so.

When it came time to move on to the next patient, Nina tried to block the door to prevent me from leaving. I had to be rescued again.

At the end of our time, we all gathered for a group photo with the patients and staff. That was like a game of musical chairs, quite honestly. And, I was the first one without a seat. Sadly, this didn’t mean that I was left out of the photo. No. Of course not. This meant that there was only one place for me to go… and that was kneeling front and center, with Nina right behind me.

Slowly, I walked to my mark and began to bend down to make sure Nina could be seen in the shot. That’s when things went south… and, by “thing,” I mean Nina’s fingers.

It was a Joey mistake, for sure. I should have known better to put my butt anywhere within reach of a woman with the strong urge to pinch it. And, damn! What a grip!

But, the photo came out great. I was captured jumping up in the air with the biggest look of surprise on my face, Nina with an ear-to-ear grin, and everyone else around us laughing. From what I was told later, they framed it. It’s hanging on the wall right outside Nina’s room.

I had that bruise for a week.

(Photo: Ting & Twang)

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name's Mojo. Mojo the Wayward Magician. I was a volunteer with Hospice for a few years as a Caring Clown. Those days are long gone now, but the clown in me lives on.

If you'd like, I'd love to regale you all with some tales of my adventures with clowning, both from the days of old and from the pages we are still writing. I'll even throw in a sing-a-long or two.

Who would like to take a walk down Memory Lane with me? I might even buy you an ice cream cone when it's all done.