(no subject)

I always end up here, with the impossible research question that nobody even should ask, like how much of an elephant is edible or what tiger tastes like (Felinecor's Land addressed both).

Or, for example, whether koalas are edible, how much of a koala is edible, and what it tastes like. Because koalas are an endangered species, apparently, and you shouldn't eat them despite the fact that they are nasty, vengeful small-brained fuckers. When I was working on the tiger question I had to read a lot of articles about some Japanese governmental officials who were apparently bribed with a tiger-meat dinner, and the SCANDAL that ensued; this time round I'm getting a lot of crap websites about drop-bears.

Now, I would imagine that a good deal of koala is fatty muscle, so I bet there's good eating. But since they live on eucalyptus, which I possess a thorough and unholy knowledge of for reasons I can't divulge, I would think they probably taste somewhat bitter or grassy or perhaps a bit like Vicks Vaporub.

I did find out that both genders of koala have bifurcated genitals and that chlamydia exists in many koala groups as a means of natural population control (this is actually interesting in terms of Jack & Ellis, but I can't say why yet. TOP SEKRIT CHLAMYDIA TRIVIA YO). And, despite the assurances of an earlier source, Wikipedia says they don't live in Northern Territory and I've since moved on without writing about them anyway. So, except for the fact that I now know more about koala genitalia than heretofore, the whole search was moot.

But entertaining, still. :D

(no subject)

So she walks into the office, her blue-rinsed hair nicely offsetting an old Cubs satin jacket, carrying a battered backpack with some corporate logo on it, and announces, "I'd like to speak to someone about my estate."

"Your estate?" I ask.

"Yes; I have a million dollars and I need to know where to put it. Someone intelligent," she adds, fixing me with a gimlet eye. Never before did I truly know the meaning of the phrase "gimlet eye", but now I do.

"Of course. We, uh, don't normally have walk-ins but I'll be happy to have someone speak to you," I say. I have no idea who should talk to this woman, but I'm quite sure someone should.

At this moment two different couriers arrive carrying parcels that must be signed for, both lines of my telephone ring, and one of the other admins presses a packet of urgent materials for my boss into my hands.

AND THEN MY HEAD EXPLODES.

Okay, not really. I sign, put both people on hold, toss the packet into my boss's inbox and bang on his window, and then buttonhole one of the senior admins who runs to fetch someone to deal with the million-dollar woman in the elderly Cubs jacket.

Figures she's a Cubs fan, they're all fucking nuts. (I root for the Cubs, but I am not a Cubs fan. Because Cubs fans are all fucking nuts.)