Y'all may have noticed - I like to "talk" a lot. Well, that's true in meatspace in certain circumstances as well. I really enjoy telling certain jokes, and the longer and more hair pulling, the better. Groaners, in other words. Not very many are Politically Correct, either. So the punchlines will be under the fold. Don't say you weren't warned.
After many months of preparation, the three explorers set sail for Deepest Africa, in search of a specimen for their museum. Weeks and weeks of research, fund raising, booking travel, porters and pack animals led to their ultimate mission - to bring back the legendary Foo bird for display at their institution. As they closed in on their destination, rumors reached their ears that the Foo bird was lethal to humans in certain circumstances. Particularly, if any Foo droppings were to touch the skin of a human, it couldn't be washed off, or said human would die.
"Pish posh! Native superstition!" exclaimed our intrepid explorers. "We must go on, for Queen, God and Country. And the Museum!" Not for the last time would they say this.
The expedition went well for a while - the animals and porters wound their way through the jungle with the proper English adventure seekers in the lead. However, the day arrived that a guide thought he had spotted some sign of a Foo bird - a feather.
The native bearers, guides - all of them instantly vanished into the jungle, leaving the intrepid explorers on their own. Would they take heed? Of course not - "We must go on, for Queen, God and Country! And the Museum!" Not for the last time.
So, the next morning, bright with promise, found the explorers winding their way along a jungle path when suddenly - "Caaaw, Caawww!" Splort! The Foo bird had taken wing from hiding and literally covered the lead explorer. And Oh, My, did it stink. It got worse as the day wound on. That evening, camped beside the river, he exclaimed "I simply must get a bath or I will go mad!" There was much debating and arguing about native superstitions, but it was no use. He jumped into the river, washed himself off, and promptly perished.
Well, one might think that would send a message, but you would be wrong. The remaining two became more stubborn in their conviction that they needed to capture this unusual specimen. "We must go on, for Queen, God and Country! And the Museum!" Not for the last time.
The next morning found our two explorers wending their way through the trails of the wilderness when suddenly - "Caaw, Caaww!" Splort! Once again, the lead explorer - covered. The intensity of the smell just seemed to worsen as the day wore on. That night, the tortured explorer hung onto a few shreds of his humanity, trying to overcome the horrible smell with his will. The next day found him a nervous wreck, trembling and shaking. That evening, he exclaimed that he just couldn't take it any more, jumped into a creek and washed himself. He, too, promptly perished.
The third explorer, left all alone, faced his prospects with an eye towards his personal honor. He went on. "For Queen, God and Country! And the Museum!" The next morning - "Caaw, Caaww!" Splort!
The poor devil lasted three whole days, finally succumbing to the overwhelming odor by washing himself in a nearby stream. Within moments, he, too, was dead.
And the moral to this story?
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