Biological terrorism plagues a certain population on campus — and somewhere at this moment, a kid with a runny nose perpetuates that violence.
“HHHHHHHOCCCCCCK!”
“Thh-OOO.”
Just be glad it didn’t smack you in the keyster.
The kid’s mucous mixture lands squarely in the lawn, and life moves on. For him.
That loogie-shootin’ student does something productive later: study, read Facebook profiles, perhaps juggle hamsters. But the spit remains. His gastrointestinal gift, possibly laden with monkeypox, remains on the grass.
And word on the street: The grass is sick of it.
As every plant biology expert knows, Bowling Green grass is unable to consume human spit. Their food consists of rainwater, stray Wendy’s fries and weaker, whinier blades of grass. Unable to digest our digestive juices, they become permanently coated with the substance and eventually die of cardiac ickyness.
In fact, student spit claims the lives of 3 million grass blades a year, according to the 2005 Almanac of Mindless Violence Against Thin Green Plants.
For years the campus grass has met annually during spring break to discuss this epidemic. Since this columnist is “too cool” for spring break (my skin enjoys turning a sweet crimson after seconds of sunlight exposure) this year I snuck into their annual conference held in 101 Olscamp, armed with nothing but a tape recorder and a mighty convincing Chia Pet disguise.
I’m fairly confident the meeting actually took place and it wasn’t just another hallucination from eating too many M’M’s off the floor … of the bathroom … at the Sunoco.
Nevertheless, here’s what I discovered. (Or allegedly made up.)
Several years ago our natural turf set into motion a master plan combating our mindless acts of carnage. Their vision of a spit-free campus has relied squarely on the hopes of their most intellectual citizens.
(Before continuing, I should explain something: Depending on its location, BGSU grass mimics the behaviors of students who enter those buildings. Therefore, the grass around Hayes, Life Science and Math Science have become geniuses and solve most of the grass’ computer problems, but they have trouble finding dates.)
Years ago the smart grass built a spit retrieval system, which funnels all salivatory substance into an underground system of pipes. The pipes deposit the collected goodness into our University’s water supply. This explains the presence of white, milky particles in our drinking fountain water. Yum!
If the grass ever figure out how to convert human spit into rain clouds, I would recommend either staying indoors during storms or invest in an umbrella designed for Kirstie Alley. And the scary part? They’re close to figuring it out.
But they won’t stop there.
This year they unveiled a new innovation in spit-blocking technology. Using their knowledge of bug spray, restaurant sneeze guards and the child adage “I am rubber you are glue…” the grass is beta testing a spray-on shield that reflects all loogies onto their masters. Known as the Strategic Projectile Isometric Tactical Boomerang Against Campus Kinfolk (SPITBACK, for short), this invention is on the verge of turning the spitter into the spitted.
Once those blades spray themselves with a coat of SPITBACK, all spit and spit-like products instantly ricochet back to the face, arms or naughty bits of the enemy. As we all know, our own mouth goo isn’t directly hazardous to our heath, but mosquitoes adore the smell.
But BG has never had a mosquito problem, right? Not until now.
The grass has been training an army of biologically perfect mosquitoes in an underground base, Area 52. (It’s across the street from Area 51. They share a driveway but have different garbage pickup days.) These mosquitoes have been genetically engineered to handle Bowling Green’s adverse air conditions — 200 mph winds, drastic temperature changes, mysteriously airborne hamsters — so they can instantly begin sucking on any spit-faced student.
All because we didn’t swallow.
At the end of the meeting, the grass seemed confident that the final chapter was being written in the battle of grass vs. spit. According to the grass’s prime minister, the slimy, gooey violence against grass draws to a close, and evil humans will no longer deploy weapons of grass destruction.
That rustling you hear from the ground isn’t the wind — it’s the grass laughing at us. Hopefully we can take this into consideration the next time we hear this:
“HHHHHHHOCCCCCCK!”
“Thh-OOO.”
Cover your jewels and don’t drink the water, phlegm-face.
Matt is being hunted by the grass nation for espionage. E-mail Matt at [email protected], but he may take a while to respond since he’s at the hospital for M’M poisoning.
