The resident faculty left a candy bar outside the mail room door. Halloween is just around the corner, but it’s a long corner, so the staff hope it was a clue…. (More)
“Mmmhhh, I love this candy,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said as he picked up the bar. “Chocolate, caramel, nougat, and peanuts. I think that’s all four food groups.”
Chef chuckled and shook her head as she headed for the kitchen. “They left out coffee.”
“If beverages can be food groups,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor called after her, “then wine should be one, for the resident faculty. And Bailey’s Irish Creme, for you.”
“Bailey’s isn’t a food group,” Chef said as she returned with the decoder ring.
She put it on the poker table and sliced out a wedge for the
Professor of Astrology Janitor. “I save that for special occasions. Birthdays, holidays….”
“Days ending in the letter y,” the Squirrel texted.
Chef gave the Squirrel a look that was almost stern and pointed to the bar. “That bottle has been there for over a year, and it’s only half-empty.”
The Squirrel nodded and tapped at his Blewberry. “I’m sorry. I’m a little jumpy because I smell the peanuts in the candy bar that the resident faculty left on their way from the
wine cellar library, where they spent the weekend drinking thinking on our motto of Magis vinum, magis verum, to the hot tub faculty lounge for their weekly game where the underwear goes flying planning conference.”
“You worked that weekly mention in nicely,” Chef said as she scraped stray pecans into the Squirrel’s bowl. “But I don’t think we could get the candy off of those peanuts, and the sugar would be bad for you.”
The Squirrel nodded again and began to nibble a pecan.
“I hope the resident faculty aren’t niggling us about Halloween already,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said. “I like to choose my costume before I go shopping for candy.”
“You could wear a suit,” Chef said, “and ask the Squirrel to sit on your head. Your costume would be Donald Trump.”
Professor of Astrology Janitor laughed. The Squirrel did not.
“His hair does not look like a squirrel,” the Squirrel texted. “It looks like a tribble, from Star Trek.”
“But it doesn’t trill,” the
Professor of Astrology Janitor said. “Tribbles trilled, kind of like when Pootie the Precious meows and purrs at the same time.”
Which Pootie the Precious did, on cue.
“Trump’s hairpiece also doesn’t reproduce,” Chef noted. “And tribbles did.”
“It might reproduce,” the Squirrel texted. “No one has any photos of his closet. It might be full of hairpieces, happily trilling away because they’re not on his head.”
“None of which gets us any closer to deciphering this week’s clue,” Chef said.
“Oh, that’s easy,” the Squirrel texted before picking up another pecan. He nibbled it and then tapped at his Blewberry. “The resident faculty are letting me write Mixed Nuts. Which makes no sense, because that candy bar doesn’t have mixed nuts. It only has peanuts and they’re not even nuts. They’re legumes. As everyone knows.”
Well, every squirrel knows that.
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Photo Credit: Snickers.com