The resident faculty left absolutely nothing as a clue this week, but the Squirrel sent his tuxedo to the cleaners and Ms. Scarlet ordered alginate molding mix. So absolutely nothing … was the clue. (More)
First our thanks to last week’s writers:
On Monday, you shared your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week, addisnana mused on Acupuncturing the Planet in Midday Matinee, and winterbanyan saw Dangers in the Hudson River in Our Earth.
On Tuesday, Winning Progressive shared 150 Years Later, Confederate Sympathizers at Gettysburg in Morning Feature, the Squirrel ranted on The Crumb Budget in Furthermore!, readers told Tuesday’s Tale: Cat Court in Midday Matinee, and winterbanyan saw that Mine Tailings May Yield Riches in Our Earth.
On Wednesday, Winning Progressive explained why We Must End Racial Profiling in Morning Feature, the Squirrel wondered Can You Hear Me Now? in Furthermore!, and addisnana offered Thoughts on the Flag in Midday Matinee.
On the weekend, we calculated The Math of Sex Scandals in Saturday’s Morning Feature, Ms. Crissie was asked about The Size of Cantaloupes? in Sunday’s Morning Feature, Winning Progressive shared Weekend Reading in Furthermore!, and winterbanyan brought our weekly Eco News Roundup in Our Earth.
Note: Please share your stories of offline political activism in Things We Did This Week.
Thus we return to the absolutely nothing left by the resident faculty as they made their way from the
wine cellar library where they spent the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum (“More wine, more truth”) to the hot tub faculty lounge for their weekly game where the underwear goes flying planning conference.
At first the staff thought the resident faculty had left us clueless, or more clueless, depending on one’s sources. We wondered if that was because the resident faculty were clueless this week, or more clueless this week, again, depending on one’s sources. Then the Squirrel tapped at his Blewberry:
“I need take my tux to the cleaners,” he texted.
The proverbial light peeped from the proverbial tower window on the proverbial distant mountain peak. Proverbial because the Main Campus has no towers. And no mountains, distant or otherwise. We have lights, but they were already on. Just not that proverbial light. Until then.
When Chef mentioned that Ms. Scarlet had ordered a case of alginate molding mix, the proverbial light became a proverbial sun. But that may have been the real sun, which was rising at that very moment, at least at the Main Campus. The sun was not yet rising at the opulent Kodiak Theater, which is several time zones behind South Blogistan, so the bears continued to sleep. Or at least we think they did, and no one wanted to wake them to find out if they were sleeping, which they wouldn’t be once awakened, which they hadn’t been, so they were. Still.
Regardless, the staff realized that the perfect nothingness left by the resident faculty was, in fact, this week’s clue. This week they will host the Fifth Annual BPI Awards, those curvaceous and coveted Bippies, given each year to recognize the very best of nonexistence in advertising, punditry, television, and film.
There’s still time to get your tickets. But don’t wake the bears.