There was a man who was a big game hunter, traveled all over the world hunting every animal he could. He had tracked and hunted down almost everything and felt very sad that there were no new animals to find.
Then he heard a story about the Mighty Red-Crested Foo Bird. It lived in the densest jungles of South America. It was rare and beautiful, a giant bird with amazing feathers. Very hard to find. And there was a story about the Foo Bird, they said that should you get any of it's poop on your skin you could never wash it off, because you would die immediately if you did.
The hunter did not believe in myths like this one and was determined to hunt down the Mighty Red Crested Food Bird and add it to his trophy room. He flew immediately to South America. It took him weeks to find a guide, because everyone was afraid to go after this bird, for fear of dying. But eventually he found a man either brave enough or desperate enough for money to guide him through the woods. They set out immediately.
Weeks more went by, while they scoured the forests, asked around, worked hard to find traces of the Mighty Red Crested Food Bird. Day after day, seeing only an occasional feather here and there, a story from someone in a remote village, but not the bird itself. Still the hunter persisted.
One day late in the afternoon as they were walking through very dense trees after spotting one more feather, the hunter turned to speak to the guide and say the man pointing silently to the tree above the hunters head. He looked up and there it was! The biggest and most beautiful bird he'd ever seen, the Mighty Red Crested Foo Bird. And just as he was about to raise his gun, the bird pooped and flew away. The poop landed on the hunter's forehead and was the most horrible, foul, reeking stench he'd ever encountered.
He was about to wipe it away and the guide shouted "No" and looked at him in horror. "You will die" and then the guide ran off in the woods. The hunter stopped and thought, "My god, what if it is true." He decided to leave it, and walked back to civilization alone.
People would not go near him, the smell was awful and he looked disgusting. He had to charter a private flight to get home, the commercial planes wouldn't let him on. Once home his friends abandoned him him, his wife left him, his children wouldn't come near him. He lost everything.
Finally he couldn't take it anymore, and he grabbed a rag, reached up, and wiped the poop away. He instantly dropped dead on the spot.
So the moral of this story? If the Foo shits, wear it.
>Mighty Red Crested Food Bird
Almost killed the immersion with that typo there, but it was far enough back to be mostly out of mind by the time I got to the inevitable punchline.
