I’m gonna write a poem about this guy, entitled “Don’t Call Me Bunte.”
And here’s the first and only stanza:
Filled in for Chappie When he died, Oh, Harry Lunte Had quite a ride. Three weeks later Poor ol’ guy Pulled a muscle In his thigh.
Yup, that pretty much sums up his career. Another reason why I love Harry: we have the same birthday, give or take 80-something years. We shall celebrate together henceforth.