Editor's Disclaimer: We neither affirm nor deny the historical accuracy of these excerpts purporting to be from the journals of a member of Admiral Byrd's Polar Expedition. We do believe that the major value of these excerpts is not as an historical record. What the value is, is left as an exercise for the reader.
I asked Admiral Byrd if he thought we might really be goldfinches, and he said, "Of course not." In the meantime, a rabbit, a scribe and two ostriches were breakfasting in the outback, and they had never heard of any of us.
Which means we have to continue drinking George's coffee, although the rabbit's smells considerably better.
The rabbit told me that he puts a pinch of salt and some eggshells in his coffee, which is why it tastes so much better than George's. That, and no one has ever advertised great coffee beans found on the Polar ice cap.
I have told George this, but he refuses to listen. Few of the men will listen to any of my ideas. I am convinced that we could make better speed by ... Of course I do not know exactly how -- that is why we must experiment. But they will not venture.
Admiral Byrd has asked me to not talk to myself. He says it makes the other men nervous. I asked him, "But what of the quantum flux in old leathers? " I ask you.
Admiral Byrd has made me the secretary of the expedition.
I am suspicious. Donaldson is still making notes in his journal.
Admiral Byrd assures me that Donaldson is only writing letters home to his budgerigar. I am the real Secretary, and shall have a great deal to keep me busy.
Indeed I shall.
None of the men will cooperate. If I am to keep accurate records of the expedition, I must have details. I have been trying to measure the bootlaces of all members of the expedition. They will not cooperate. I have tried to measure, at least, the length of their nose hair. They will not cooperate. I have been trying to measure the nails of the sled dogs. They will not cooperate.
The Secretary is dead. He was eaten by a polar bear. It is believed that he was trying to count its back teeth.
We have all agreed to pretend that he never existed. I am burying this journal with him, in the polar ice. May God save us all from the madness of the white spaces.
If you see the rabbit, please give him my condolences.
Thalia's Humor Page