Is it my imagination, or does bull semen seem to be everywhere these days?*
A few months ago, newspapers were announcing that a missing container of bull semen had been located in Coudersport, PA. Reduced to fits of adolescent laugher, it was a full ten minutes before I could hold my hands steady enough to make it my facebook status:
Stand down, citizens. The missing bull semen has been found.
I was still giggling a bit when people much more knowledgeable (and mature) than I set the record straight. “It’s not funny!” came the admonishment. “That amount of bull semen could be worth thousands of dollars, so losing it might have ruined some breeder’s whole year.”
Holy mother of Moses! At such a rate of exchange, the average Penn State student (male, of course) must be walking around with a fortune in his pants! Why, the football team alone could solve the education budget crisis and make tuition affordable for thousands! All I’m saying, Graham Spanier, is it’s worth thinking about.
Anyhoooo. . .
Two days ago, interstate traffic near Nashville, TN, was temporarily stopped during the morning rush hour. Here’s how the incident was reported by the Reuters News agency:
The incident began when the driver of a Greyhound bus carrying the freight alerted the fire department he had lost a part of his load while negotiating the ramp on a highway near Nashville. When firefighters arrived on the ramp, they saw “four small propane-sized canisters (that) began to emit a light vapor,” Lawrence said. In addition to the vapor, the canisters also let off an unpleasant odor and the ramp was closed while emergency personnel tried to determine what was in the containers.
What was in the containers, of course, was bull juice, kept on dry ice to guarantee freshness. Yes, the sweet nectar of the bull had made its way into the headlines once again. And can we just pause here to respect the Reuters reporter who cleverly chose the words lost part of his load to describe the mishap? Well done, sir, well done.
I was immediately reminded of the classic bit by Cheech and Chong (yes, I’m that old), in which the addle-brained stoners come upon a steaming pile along their walk. Intrigued, they smell it, touch it, and taste it before coming to the conclusion that the pile in question is dog poo. Their response? “Good thing we didn’t step in it!”
Can’t you just imagine the rescue crew, wrapped head-to-toe in protective gear, cautiously approaching the vaporous, smelly canisters, afraid that they might be first responders at the scene of a toxic waste spill or the deploy of some dastardly form of chemical warfare? I envision it like the scene in ET when the government scientists put Eliot’s house under lockdown and quarantine so they can poke and prod the mysterious creature on their examining table. Except in this case, the mystery is nothing more than the hand-harvested by-product of poor Ferdinand, who didn’t even get the pleasure of sneaking off to the back 40 with Bossy to make a direct deposit.
I can only hope the bus driver got a belly laugh while using his cell phone to film the whole ordeal.
Honestly, folks, this stuff practically writes itself.
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*You can’t imagine how long I’ve waited to start a blog post with a sentence like that.