Ahh, Sunday at Blogistan Polytechnic Institute, when the faculty head off to the wine cellar library to drink think for the weekend, and that leaves your lowly mail room clerk to keep tabs on the staff poker game and review the postal droppings. "Droppings" is certainly the word for this week's mail. We had no idea bat guano had become such an important topic in the U.S.
More below the fold....
Perhaps it's the proliferation of vampire-themed novels and TV shows, the start of the Major League Baseball season, or a nationwide infestation of flying mammals. Or perhaps your mail room clerk is missing an underlying metaphor. Regardless, the mail this week here at Blogistan Polytechnic Institute seemed to focus on bat droppings. Chef was so upset she decided not to put caraway seeds in the rye bread she's now baking and with which she'll make Dreyfus sandwiches for breakfast. Luckily the talk of droppings did not affect her propensity to draw flushes, nor the Janitor's propensity to bet into them while holding only two pair, so the staff poker game is proceeding as normal.
And that's the end of normal, so far as we can discern from the mail:
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Dear Ms. Crissie,
Though I live in New York City, my hobby is spelunking. My friend and I recently visited a cave complex and found lots of bats. I thought they were cute and harmless, even heroic, with superpowers like sonar, but my friend insisted we get out immediately to avoid the droppings. Is bat guano toxic, or was he being a joker?
Bruce in Gotham
Dear Bruce,
Your friend - Robin? - was right. While bats do use echolocation to navigate and usually are otherwise harmless, bat guano contains a fungus known as Histoplasma capsulatum which can cause a disease called histoplasmosis if the spores are inhaled. We're sorry to say this, but you need to stay out of the bats' cave, Bruce.
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Dear Ms. Crissie,
You know that's not the kind of batshit people are talking about. Steroid use is a serious problem in baseball, because it undermines the integrity of the game. Batters shouldn't be using that ... excuse me while I turn to face a different camera ... stuff. And it's silly to suggest the concern is really about cave droppings. Keep up the bad puns and you'll face nomination for worst .. person .. in the worrrrrrrrld.
Keith in NY
Dear Keith,
In reading more of the mail, we agree that the concerns about toxicity in bat guano are probably not about the droppings of flying mammals, though we humbly suggest it may not be about baseball either. Humbly, because we would never second guess you on a topic where your knowledge and your passion are so evident. That said, please don't nominate us for Worst Person simply because our Rays tromped your Yankees 15-5 last week. The Rays did lose the next two games of that series, after all. By the way, bird guano also contains H. capsulatum, so don't inhale too deep a sigh of relief if the Blue Jays drop a few games. As for bad puns, is that not redundant?
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Dear Ms. Crissie,
Okay, just get to the point. This is all about me, isn't it? I've been told what you left wing loons are writing about me, that I'm "batshit crazy," that what I say is "toxic." Bat droppings, bird droppings, bad puns, it's all a way to dismiss what I'm saying. But I gotta tell you, I just ... I love my country ... and I worry about it ... when people like you can live in it and actually steal elections by voting ... and that's why I ... (sorry, I had to sniffle and wipe away a tear) ... that's why I say the things I do. Is that "batshit" and "toxic" to you?
Glenn in CT
Dear Glenn,
We're reminded of the story of the Foo Bird. Perhaps you've heard it, but if not, it's the story of a Brave If Not Brilliant Hunter who set out to hunt the most dangerous animal in all the world, the Giant Foo Bird. He took along a guide, at least as far as the stream at the edge of the jungle, at which point the guide (having already been paid; as we said, the Hunter was Brave If Not Brilliant) said:
"I will go no farther. Up ahead is the jungle of the Great Foo Bird. He lives in the top of the tallest tree in the jungle. But be sure you hit him with your first shot, for if not you will surely startle him, and when he flies away he will leave his guano on you. You dare not wash it off, for when mixed with water it becomes a deadly toxin and will kill you. Thanks for the paycheck. Have a nice day."
The Courteous If Not Entirely Helpful Guide promptly left, and the Brave If Not Brilliant Hunter ventured forth into the depths of the jungle, until he came to the tallest tree. (How could he tell it was the tallest tree, the Janitor asks, as this is triple-canopy jungle where you can't see the treetops. It's labeled "Tallest Tree," okay? But we digress.)
The Brave If Not Brilliant Hunter looked up, and sure enough, there it was in all its glory: the Great Foo Bird. So the Hunter raised his shotgun, took careful aim, and slowwwwwwwwwly squeezed the trigger ... pausing only to sneeze in mid-squeeze ... and as we all know, mid-squeeze sneezes do not for good aim make.
Yeah, he missed.
The Great Foo Bird, now startled (and not at all happily, in the way one might be startled to come home and find a shiny new, totally energy-efficient car sitting in the driveway, already paid off, with a note that says "Just because you're such a great person, signed Flying Spaghetti Monster") swooped out of the tree and with a mighty CRAWWWWWWWWWK dropped its guano atop the head of the Brave If Not Brilliant Hunter, then flew merrily (in a perverse, 'gotcha' sort of way, not the Merrily We Roll Along, Christmassy sort of way) away.
The Brave If Not Brilliant Hunter, living up first to his initial description, set off back out of the jungle, determined to heed the words of his Courteous If Not Entirely Helpful Guide. But as is the wont of multi-descripted fictional characters, when he reached the stream at the edge of the jungle, the second description rose to the fore. (That, or it was the bile rising in his throat, as the Great Foo Bird's calling card is both toxic in water and also exceptionally smelly in air.)
So the Brave If Not Brilliant Hunter, unable to bear the stench any longer, bent over to wash off the calling card of the Great Foo Bird ...
... and promptly the toxin took effect and he died.
But not before whispering these words for the ages:
"If the Foo shits, wear it!"
And that, Mr. Beck, is our answer.
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Dear Ms. Crissie,
Did you really write all of this just to tell a really long, really bad pun? Really?
Disappointed in Blogistan
P.S. What's a Dreyfus sandwich?
Dear Disappointed,
Yes, we really, really, really did.
And a Dreyfus sandwich is a fried egg, over easy, with bacon and perhaps a small serving of grits or hash browns if you've made them, all piled between two slices of toast. Here at Blogistan Polytechnic Institute we call it a Dreyfus, in honor of the breakfast enjoyed by Richard Dreyfus - to the disgust of his partner Emilio Estevez - in their first scene of the comic buddy-cop classic, Stakeout.
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Happy Sunday!