Tag Archives: bats

If It Ain’t Broke Don’t Fix It and If You’re Gonna Eat It, Then Make It the Real Thing; No Imitations Please…Just Saying.

jakeswaybackburgerHave you ever been curious about old wives tales, clichés, and repetitive sayings? I have the same interests coursing through my veins. In fact, I have formed a blue ribbon fact finding commission to investigate these series of adages. My main objective is to find the story behind these mottoes, be it fact or fiction.

I am an investigator caring not on which side this search ends but only that the truth be accurately told. On a side annotation, I will be noting my findings and turning them into what will most assuredly be a bestseller.

My first contribution to this list is the notion that rainy days are good days for ducks, when in fact ducks hate rain. Hold onto your britches.

Do you recall the misnomer that flew around for years, “blind as a bat?” Bats actually have excellent vision along with their sonar. Their sonar is so finely tuned that a bat placed in a room with an open window containing a box fan set on low was able to time the fan and escape between the moving blades.

The same bat was able to perform the identical maneuver with the fan turned to medium. With the fan on high the bat could not accomplish this feat, but how amazing that this small creation of God could slip between the fan blades moving as they were.

Have you ever heard someone say (in person or on television), “You can cut the fat and not the flavor?” Well, that’s about the biggest whopper I believe I’ve ever heard. (And I don’t mean with cheese.)

Why would anyone want to cut the fat? You know that fat equals flavor. Don’t misunderstand what I’m trying to say. I eat healthy the majority of the time, but every now and again I want a greasy, fat laden, cheese covered burger, sausage sandwich or a pizza with grease running down my forearm. We mustn’t forget a slice of cheesecake or a bowl of full fat ice cream.

This of course is all my opinion, but also my blog, so by all means adopt a healthy diet and lifestyle, but take
time to enjoy an occasional guilty pleasure, preferably one that’s full of all the truly good stuff.

See ya next week and wipe that grease off your face.

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Bite Me!!

I’ve often thought of writing a children’s book…. Well, not so much, often thought of it… It’s more on the order of never thought of it. Actually, if the truth be told, I’ve never considered considering writing a children’s Bippy the grub wormbook. Okay, you got me, this is the first time I’ve ever mentioned it.

 But if I did:

 I would have to decide on a cute, little, desirable character. Bunny rabbits, chicks, turtles, baby birds and even little lost fish have been done to death.…… I know, a big, fat, juicy, baby, grub worm. I could name him Bippy. And the book would be about Bippy’s adventures moving inches each day through the dirt and rotten tree stumps, doing what big, fat, juicy, baby, grub worms do. Then, one day a man making a survivalist television show eats Bippy raw. Poor Bippy.

 How about:

 Bogart, the legless mosquito? Unable to fly since birth due to a lack of ballast offered by the missing legs, we find Bogart in the backyard of your average, middle-class, suburbanite family. We follow Bogart on his perilous trek through a finely manicured lawn, dodging avian attacks, and avoiding such dangers as snakes, turtles, frogs and cannibalistic insects as he makes his way to the house.

 Bogart continues his death-defying journey, knowing that his first meal awaits in the life-giving fluid that courses through any one of the humans that abide in yonder abode. Finally after squirming, rolling and wriggling his way the necessary three feet to the back deck, he nestles himself into a crack on top of the handrail awaiting his bipedal victim.

 A likely target steps out of the back door and places a hand on the very same rail that the emaciated Bogart has taken up residence, poised to strike. Before the hand can reach the gaunt mosquito, Bogart is devoured by a wingless bat that throws itself from the roof and snatches the hapless Bogart from his hiding place.

 The bat we will call Wrigley (because that’s his name) promptly rolled off the rail and onto the ground. He begins to squirm across the finely manicured lawn, still masticating poor little Bogart, until Wrigley himself is slowly gummed to death by a toothless cat called Knuckles. Knuckles is later found dead, having choked trying to swallow a wingless bat with puffed out cheeks full of partially digested mosquito parts.

 Sadly, these mosquito parts contained no legs, but now Bogart was finally able to soar high with his fellow departed mosquitoes.

 Aye, a fitting end for all concerned. I think I’ll call it, “Bugs, Bats, and Cats: the Other White Meat.”

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Filed under On writing