Actually, I think this first one might have some truth to it.
Do you remember the old drive in theaters? The ones with speakers that scratched your car all up and you could hardly understand a word that was being said? Or, maybe you weren't at all interested in what was being said because you were too busy making out?
Well, it seems that there was this drive in theater somewhere in the South that was segregated, whites on one side and 'coloreds' on the other. The white side had indoor plumbing facilities, the colored side outhouses. The white side had huge circulating fans, the colored side nothing.
One night a bunch of hefty coloreds decided that they were going to have a little fun. They overturned the outhouses right in front of the large fans, the contents spilled out (natch), and the stench overwhelmed the white audience.
They called it a case of the 'shit hitting the fan'.
THAT one strikes me as having some semblance of truth.
[I grew up mainly -- from 3rd grade on -- in the far north, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. There was no segregation up there that I can remember ... perhaps because there weren't very many blacks, I don't know. I'd like to think that, even if there were, there would still have been no segregation. Dream world?]
This next story is so far removed from the truth that, unless you are just incredibly naive and believe absolutely everything you're told, you will snort right from the very beginning. Ready? Here we go.
There was this tremendously successful hunter. His home had had to be enlarged many times to hold all of his trophies, but still he was unhappy. It seems that there was one trophy missing from his vast collection. He had been trying for years to get it, but it had always eluded him.
Now, he thought he was getting a little too old to go trekking through jungles in search of this rarity, but he kept hearing stories about its possible existence in a remote jungle area that he had not explored before, so he thought he'd give it one last try. Off he went in search of this unique creature, the foo bird.
The second week into the safari, exhausted, hot, dirty, and itching all over from various bites and stings, he was about ready to call it quits when word came to his guide that a foo bird had been sighted!
However, his guide warned him that the nearby villagers regarded the foo bird as a sacred object. He would not be allowed to harm it in any way. The hunter was disappointed, but thought that if he could just SEE one, his trip would have been somewhat worthwhile.
They arrived at the village. The hunter looked all around, hoping to see a foo bird. The villagers watched him very carefully. All of a sudden his guide pointed and said, "There!!"
The hunter took off his safari hat to try and shield his eyes from the sun, and wouldn't you know it? The foo bird chose that very second to plop a big one right on top of his head.
As the hunter raised his arm to wipe the gob of you know what off, the guide quickly grabbed his arm and said, "No! The villagers say that if you wipe it off, you will die!"
Now what? The hunter had seen a foo bird, all right, but the only trophy he would be bringing home was the one he was wearing on the top of his head.
Why didn't he just remove it? Well, he wasn't at all sure that the villagers were not correct, and he really wasn't interested in challenging their claim.
And so, he returned home ... alone, of course. No one wanted to be around the stench. Weeks went by. He was very careful when he bathed. He ate alone. He walked alone. He was shunned.
One day he decided that he just couldn't take it any more. He reached up and, with one magnificent swoop, removed the offending object and immediately fell dead.
The moral of this story is, "If the foo shits, wear it."
(By the way, this post was inspired by Will. Note the 3rd paragraph.)