October 14, 1927
Pajamarino! Everybody loves pajamarino! Everybody, except, perhaps, Mr. Charles Chaplin.
Pajamarino, that time-honored tradition of frat boys garbing themselves in…pajamas! And thereafter lighting everything they can get their hands on on fire. And there’s something in there about football, and probably a booze-fueled orgy of rape and vandalism, but definitely football.
Which is all fine and good, yet again, Mr. Chaplin would disagree, in that he showed up for work this morning ready to get to work on his new picture The Circus. But two crucial props were missing…the circus wagons. He and his crew of fifty were held up—at Chaplin’s expense—as deputy sheriffs set about searching for the missing things.
They were located, finally, down on Moore Field at UCLA, apparently absconded with by the aforementioned Greeks of Occidental, who’d thrown them into the giant tower of chopped-up orphanages and dug-up caskets and whatnot ready for that night’s postgame bonfire.
So Chaplin’s people pulled the wagons off and back to Glendale, the rest of the kindling was sent that night aflame to hell, the pajama-clad ran amok, and all was right with the world.
We’ve come for your circus wagons.