Long ago, deep in a forgotten temple...an artifact lays dormant. An artifact so old, even time can't seem to recall the origin of these world shattering, god forbidden, and quite frankly, elegant accoutrements.
however; one person...one mother to be more specific...one grandmother to be certain...one great-grandmother to be exact, does know at least a lace of the story kept in the old forgotten shoebox-like tomb.
Like any senile person, you have to butter them up with gifts before they tell you their story. This old lady is no exception. If you give the great-grandmother a vile of goose grease, and a bundle of bundle of half broken buttons* she will tell you the tale of these legendary shoes.
Like most stories it starts with a hero, a hero almost forgotten. A strong chested man with blue curly hair, a multi-colored jumpsuit, a red rubber nose that honked (quite aggressively, as if it was crying out for help), and of course those classic...timeless...and very squeaky, oversized, white leather shoes. A hero named Bongo...
Bongo was the ideal hero. The clown crusader was smart, strong, funny, and had impeccable aim with a cream pie. However, as with most professions, you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become a villain. Bongo was last seen responding to a massive car accident. The driver, accompanied by his 18 other passengers, was distracted by his never-ending handkerchief and drove off the side of the road.
Fearlessly Bongo jumped off the cliff after the mini-cooper. However, his whoopee cushion failed to break his fall, resulting in his untimely death.
The body was never found, yet some say you can still hear the squeak of Bongo's shoes at the bottom of cliff, search for the bodies of the fellow clowns he failed to save.
*This leads to another mystery of why this old woman would need these items, yet most people just chalk it up to "She's from a different time" and most of them would be right.
