Long ago, there was a Great White Hunter who roamed far and wide, going on safari after safari, hunting down and shooting for sport every manner of wildlife. His den was huge and was decorated fabulously, though some felt grotesquely, with the heads, skins, horns and in some cases whole bodies of the animals he succeeded in bringing down.
His collection was rumored to be the most complete in the world, but he was still unsatisfied because he had been unsuccessful in his quest to bring home the most difficult species of bird to find, let alone kill-the immortal foo bird.
The foo bird was huge, said to exceed even the size of the roc, the legendary avian giant that could carry off elephants. The Great White Hunter was determined that he should be the first in the world to have a foo bird in his den.
But there was great danger in hunting the foo bird, for it was said that the bird was incredibly quick and, when spotted, would take flight and defecate on all in close range. Once defecated upon, legend had it that one could not wash off the excrement, because if one did, instant death would result.
Undeterred, the Great White Hunter undertook another great safari into the deepest, darkest jungles of Africa, in his ever present quest to locate and bring home the immortal foo bird. No expense was spared on this expedition, with the finest weaponry, the most experienced scouts, and the finest and most extensive provisions, so that the Great White Hunter could have many weeks available for locating the foo bird.
At last, one late afternoon, one of the Great White Hunter’s scouts whispered that a foo bird was in the next clearing. The Great White Hunter hurried to shoulder his rifle and, taking quick aim, shot and killed the gigantic bird. Alas, the bird, true to the legend, was able to defecate on the Great White Hunter just before being hit.
But, the Great White Hunter figured that he had his prey. No one else in the world had ever bagged a foo bird and, by thunder, he would take it home, have it stuffed, and show the world that he was, indeed, the Great White Hunter. He honored the legend and left the excrement on him to ensure that he would enjoy his prize trophy.
Sadly, the Great White Hunter’s odiferous state was such that no one would visit him to see his rare foo bird. He could not enjoy his moment being alone. Depressed, he fell to drink and despondency, bemoaning the fact that he could not bask in the glory of the moment.
Finally, he decided that there was no use in going on. If he couldn’t show is foo bird to others and see their reaction, he might as well be dead. He realized that there was no longer any point in honoring the legend of the excrement. One night, when he could no longer stand the irony, he ran to the shower and washed off all the foo bird excrement-and fell dead instantly.
The moral of the story?
If the foo shits, wear it.