Mess in a bottle
Authorities perplexed by yucky discovery (head & sub on one line if fits)
Food. Clothing. Shelter. Funny dogs. Our cornucopia runneth over. But there’s a certain something to be thankful for – "That Of Which We So Rarely Speak" – that you might’ve neglected to mention ’round the ol’ turkey table. (Yr not alone – it’s all too easy to take for granted.) It’s never too late to set things straight, so repeat & ye shall recant: "Me, personally speaking in the first-person, I myself am thankful for not finding a severed human johnson in the bottom of a fruit-punch bottle. Amen & let’s eat!"
Not all of us are so lucky. (There but for the god of gross, & cetera.) A factory worker in a large N.American city made just such a grisly discovery on his a.m. break last week. This is what the factory worker does ev’ry day: drink a bottle of fruit punch. This is what the factory worker doesn’t do ev’ry day: find a 3-inch segment of schnitzel in the bottom of his fruit-punch bottle. This is how the crackerjack prize made the factory worker feel: queasy. (Later still, once his stomach settled, he wondered if drinking a schlong-flavoured beverage means he’s gay – or if it just counts as "experimenting.")
The man was initially thrilled by his discovery, thinking he’d won something kinda like those "talking can" contests you find in specially marked cases of domestic beer. But the wiener was not talking to him (in retrospect, mercifully so) and he certainly did not feel like any sorta winner. He didn’t know what that soggy thing was, but he knew it sure as heck wasn’t fruit punch. (First clue: fruit punch isn’t chewy.) His coworkers were equally confused, so he turned to his supervisor for help identifying the mystery meat. The supervisor knew exactly what it was (he must own a special medical book or something) and so the appropriate forms were filled out in triplicate, cops were summoned, and normal business resumed.
The police are so flummoxed by the situation that they aren’t even sure a crime has been committed. (Altho I’m sure there’s at least one gentleman out there who begs to differ.) Is it evidence of a murder coverup? Assault & battery? Overzealous circumcision? A college prank? An ill-conceived knock-off of Asian "bubble tea"? Proof positive that running w/ scissors is sheer folly? Nobody can say for certain.
The most obvious sleuthing solution is often correct (consult: The Hardly Boys in "The Case of the Missing Manhood," 1956), so the police focused their initial investigation on the man who discovered the you-know-what. The theory: he lopped off his own ding-a-ling & jammed it into the bottle, in the hope of scoring big in an out-of-court settlement. (Just like Bob & Doug did in Strange Brew, but w/ a schlong instead of a mouse and fruit punch instead of beer.) It was only after the wrongfully accused "dropped trou" in the presence of the DA that the police were forced to rethink their approach.
Mysteries abound. Nobody has come forth to claim the 3-inch hoo-hoo; psychologists believe "size embarrassment" may be a factor, altho immersion in chilled fruit punch would result in understandable shrinkage that’s not anyone’s fault. The fruit punch was bottled over a year ago, but the manufacturer is at a loss re: how a partial dangler (not to be confused w/ a dangling participle) got into one of its bottles. (All of its bottling-plant employees are intact, so to speak.) Investigators are now scouring classified ads for clues ("I SAW YOU... severing my penis last year. Blue shirt, nice smile. Let’s meet for coffee, surgery, maybe more"), and canvassing catheter shops. Anyone w/o a penis is considered a suspect, unless they’re female.
Meanwhile, as testament to human resilience, the factory worker continues to happily chug his daily bottle of fruit punch. "It could’ve been much, much worse," he said of the incident. "I’m allergic to nuts." (Ba-dum-dum!) |
