h a l f b a k e r yThe word "How?" springs to mind at this point.
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A range of shallow-fried foodstuffs (that may or
may
not contain real bat meat or substitute bat meat),
consisting of a coating of bat-ter (pitcher not
included) around a slice of mystery meat*.
* The type and origin of the meat is different in
each country, despite the inference
it
may
have come from a fruitbat. Cultural
sensitivities and proclivities have to be catered
for,
you see.
Marketing in all countries will be through a mix of
media, with the campaign featuring a fruitbat
hanging upside down, indicating that the product
may possibly have an Australasian origin.
(Thank you [Ling] for the name. I was looking at
fruitbats at Yeppoon, in Central Queensland,
recently and reflecting upon how they are
considered a native delicacy. I don't know I
could eat a whole one but I'm comfortable with
the idea of morsels battered and pan-fried.)
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Annotation:
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[Bellauk65] should be thanked, not me; for I was
simply the humble receiver of the mystic powers of
2nd sight. |
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From "The Stupidest Angel", by Christopher Moore. |
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This picture was taken on the island of Guam, Roberto's birthplace. There are palm trees in the foreground. You can tell he's just a young fellow, because he has not yet acquired a pair of Ray-Bans, nor a master to bring him mangoes on demand. He's curled up in a Christmas wreath made from palm fronds and decorated with little papayas and red palm nuts. He is licking papaya pulp from his little doggy face. The children who found him in the wreath that Christmas morning are posed on either side of the door where the wreath hangs. They are both girls, and have the long curly brown hair of their Chamorro mother, the green eyes of their Irish-Catholic father, who is an American airman. Father is taking the picture. The girls are in bright, floral mission dresses with puffy sleeves. |
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Later, after church, they will try to coax Roberto into a box so they can later cook him and serve him with saimen noodles. Although he escapes, the incident traumatizes the young bat and he does not speak for years. |
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I have long understood that photograph was taken on the
island of Fungibus, [normzone]. That's the first time I've
heard that explanation for its existence. |
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Sorry. Sense of humour transplants are only available
tomorrow. |
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Umm... that "machine" is merely a wastebasket. |
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That vinegar smell is probably cerebrospinal fluid. |
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Possibly high in CJD, if you live in an Ashkenazi enclave. |
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I don't think these would be truly fungible. Accounting for cultural dietary sensibilities. |
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Ha -you deleted my annotation [UB], which merely pointed out that suggesting items which could be eaten is not particularly inventive. What's the point in putting up ideas here if you are going to delete people's annotations? |
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Come back to me when you've got real fruit bats. |
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I've got 20 million of the fuckers, living next door. Do
you know how much flying fox shit comes out of 20
million of them every day? |
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It's slightly heavier than water, so there's a marginal
difference, [Max]. |
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Fact is, [Max], that they eat between 50% and 200% of
their body weight each night, with a transit time of
roughly 20 minutes from mouth to anus. |
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Given that they weigh up to 1.2kg (almost 3lb) you can
only begin to imagine how nasty it can be to end up on
the receiving end of their... effluent. |
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That said, they are quite tasty. |
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That would be a good idea. |
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This is just downright weird. So weird you'll get no
bun from me. There is weird, and then just damn
weird. This is the later. Sorry Bubbs. |
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[bella], that's why it suggests they may or may not
contain bat meat. |
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