The Lab Mice and Their Divergent Beliefs

Once, a colony of mice lived in the laboratory of a large, multi-national women's cosmetic company.The mice came in three different colors, white, grey, and brown, and, being alive, rather than noticing the commonalities that brought them together, they noticed differences that separated them, and they all started talking loudly about these differences, often at the same time.

One of the differences they noticed was that they all celebrated different things. The white mice celebrated Listmaus, the mouse day of lists, when mice made lists of various types and lengths and wrapped them around their Listmaus trees, hoping that someone would notice them and provide all the items listed there, or at least make a comment or two about them. The grey mice celebrated Chheesekkahh, which was a relatively minor holiday for the grey mice honoring the frying of blocks of cheese, even when there was not enough oil to properly fry the cheese, and how good the cheese tasted when fried. And, even though Chheesekkahh was a minor holiday for the grey mice, and even though no one, including the grey mice, knew how it was really spelled, a few marketing mice had picked up on the fact that it took place during the same time as Listmaus and they plugged the hell out of it, hoping to sell more T-shirts and trinkets. Finally, the brown mice celebrated Earadon, where they didn't eat any nuts, cheese, peanut butter, or even lick salt from sun-up to sundown, then binged like crazy until the sun came back up, all hoping that their loyalty would make their ears so much more prominent in comparison to their bulimic bodies.

The three colors of mice celebrated their respective holidays for a long time in relative peace, until one day, a particularly angry white mouse decided to stick the biggest Listmaus tree any mouse had ever seen right smack dab in the middle of the maze.

"What are you doing?" asked the brown mice, when they realized that they couldn't even get through the maze because the Listmaus tree was blocking all movement. They knew they had to get through before sun-up or else they couldn't eat the cheese that waited for them at the end.

"I'm putting up a Listmaus tree," said the angry white mouse. "Live with it."

"But we don't believe in Listmaus," said the brown mice, "And we can't get through the maze with that big thing there."

"Whatever," said the white mouse. "I have a right to celebrate how I want when I want, and you can't stop me."

"It is kinda huge," said the other white mice, "And it's blocking our way, too."

The angry white mouse turned on the other white mice. "What? I can't believe you! You are going to let these brown mice whine to the point that you give up your beliefs? You want them to destroy your Listmaus? You want them to chip away at it squeak by squeak?"

"No," said the other white mice, "In fact, we hate these crazy brown mice anyway." And, at that point, all the white mice began to join hands and start singing in front of the Listmaus tree about all of the stuff they hoped would be taken off their lists and rain down on them.

The grey mice listened to this and said, "What if you just move your tree out of the way, so that everyone can get through the maze?"

"What!" said the white mice. "This lab colony was founded on white mice values! And you just want to tear all of this down!"

"Here," said a mouse no one had noticed (because he wasn't actually a mouse, but a rat who worked for marketing disguised as a mouse in order to plant sales ideas virally), "Why don't we just put a piece of fried cheese down next to the Listmaus tree and celebrate Chheesekkahh over here in the dark corner, where you can also buy some Cchheesekkahhh cards and a few Chheeesekkah chocolates, all at a reasonable price, only in smaller quantities, because the total market is smaller."

The grey mice just rolled their eyes.

The brown mice, who were so hungry at this point that they ate the fried cheese, knowing that time was running out to get through the maze before sun-up, said, "That doesn't work. We don't want T-shirts and games. We just want to get through the maze before sun-up so we can celebrate Earadon."

The white mice answered, "And we just want to have the right to enjoy Listmaus wherever we want, in the way that is important to us."

"And the grey mice just want to have the right to celebrate Chhheesekkkahh as they traditionally have for thousands of years," said the marketing rat, "With flashing lights and wrapping paper."

"Actually, we have already celebrated it," said the grey mice, who, used to roadblocks, were looking for an alternate route through the maze that didn't involve pushing past the huge Listmaus tree. But nobody heard them.

"Listmaus!" said the white mice.

"Earadon!" said the brown mice.

"Chhheessekkkahhh!" said the marketing rat.

"LISTMAUS!" yelled the white mice as loud as they could, shaking the Listmaus tree until lists rained down over the entire maze.

"EARADON!" screamed the brown mice, tearing the lists to pieces and eating them in hunger.

"CCHHHHEEESSSEKKKKKAHHHH!" said the marketing rat, who, without his focus groups of hip and edgy grey mice, was not quite sure how to spell it, but sure that there was a market out there for Chheesekkahh cards if only he could get the narrative right.

"LISTMAUS!"

"EARADON!"

"CHHHEEESSEEEKKAHHAHHHAKKAHHAH!"

"LISTMAUS!"

"EARADON!"

"CCCCCHHHEEESEEEEKKKAAAAA-"

And, it was at that moment that a scientist in the lab flooded the entire mouse colony with gallons and gallons of boiling hairspray in order to determine the effects of super-heated hairspray on flesh, killing every mouse of every color in the most painful and gruesome way imaginable, no matter what holiday they celebrated.

Moral: Warning: product is flammable. If heated product come in contact with skin, rinse with cold water, use pressure to stop bleeding, apply ice to welts or swollen areas, and contact your physician immediately. In severe cases, contact local emergency services. Do not ingest heated product. The manufacturer does not recommend heating product and denies all responsibility if product is used in a manner not directed as labeled.

The Ducks and the Chickens Who Disagreed

Once, there was a group of Chickens who needed a place to lay their eggs. The Chickens decided to build a new chicken coop, and they thought they found the perfect place, just around the corner from the duck pond. The Pond Zoning Commission decided everything was acceptable, there were no other issues from a legal standpoint and, once the endless study of whether or not that edge of the duck pond was protected wetland finally came to a conclusion (and, to keep everyone happy (or, perhaps, unhappy), it was decided that it was protected wetland, but also fell under a duck pond grandfather clause that allowed chicken coops to be built there, anyhow), then the Chickens proceeded to draw up plans for their new coop.

"Wait a quack quack quackin' minute, here," said the Ducks, when they realized that the Chickens were about to build a chicken coop on the edge of the duck pond. "Excuse me, Chickens, but we don't know who you think you are! This is a DUCK pond, not a CHICKEN pond! You can't build a chicken coop on the edge of a duck pond! This pond has a long and proud history of being a duck pond. In fact, it was founded by ducks, at least after we chased the herons out! This pond has duck values! The children come to the pond to throw bread because of the ducks! It is the ducks that have made this pond great! Now, suddenly, all it takes is for you guys to start waving your peckers around and you turn it into a CHICKEN pond?! Who's the real power behind this pond grab?"

The Chickens turned their heads quickly side to side and scraped their feet in their dirt. "Ain't no one here but us Chickens, Ducks. And we're coming home to roost! We're just trying to build a chicken coop, not take over your flappin' pond! You guys go south for the winter, anyhow, while we're stuck up here, unable to fly with our puny little wings. Don't we at least deserve somewhere to lay during the cold months? This chicken coop has been approved by the Pond Commission, and, unlike you Ducks, who always want to put everything on your bills, we're paying for the construction in cash, which isn't chicken scratch and will help the pond economy. You don't have to be so fowl- it's not like we declared it duck season! We just want to build a crowin' chicken coop, you bunch of silly geese! Don't get your feathers so ruffled!"

"GEESE!" gasped the Ducks. "The nerve of you dumb clucks! The only way you cocks should even be around our duck pond is extra crispy in a bucket! Well, you might have been approved by the Pond Commission, but we're not about to run around here like a chicken with its head cut off! We'll take our case to the residents of the pond, and then you'll see that building in duck territory is not everything it is quacked up to be!"

With that, the Ducks began to squawk on quack radio, spreading the word as to what an outrage it was to build a chicken coop on the edge of a duck pond, and how out of touch with pond values the Pond Zoning Commission was anyway (not to mention the fact that the stupid wetland study was a waste of taxpayer money). And, pretty soon, the issue of the chicken coop began to take up time from real news and get other pond residents upset. The Dragonflies were buzzing about it. The Frogs thought they'd croak before they ever saw a chicken coop built on a duck pond. The Beavers said, "Dam!" The Mosquito's blood began to boil. Even the Fish began to carp and throw barbs from their underwater perches as their anger bubbled to the surface.

The Chickens, not knowing what else to do, began to pray. "Dear Chicken God, please help us to cover these obnoxious Ducks in orange sauce and serve them up with a side of potatoes so that we may build our chicken coop. Are these ducks blind or have they just quacked up?"

The Ducks, who figured the Chickens were praying, also began to pray, but did it even louder. "Dear Duck God, please deliver these Chickens to the great Colonel Saunders so that he may bread and fry them and offer them up as Tuesday dinner special, or, even better, humiliate them by shoving bacon and cheese between their breasts. We would be egg-static if you would listen to our cries egg-hen!"

Knowing that the Ducks were praying, the Chickens tried to pray louder still, practically crowing at the top of their combs. "Dear Chicken God, please allow an oil company to begin to deep water drill in this duck pond, so that the pond becomes so polluted with oil spill that the Ducks have no choice but to change their names to "Foie gras" and "Pate". We have had to listen to their stupid Duck calls and know that they are really nothing but a bunch of loons!"

And the Ducks, who had had a lot of practice being shrill on quack radio, started to honk and quack so loud that even the bullfrogs decided to move to another pond to get away from it. "Dear Duck God, please, please knock the nuggets off of these Foghorn Leghorn wannabes so that they understand we are not just playing chicken here, but intend to duck and cover while using all of our resources, including the World Wide Webbed-feet, to fight this Chicken menace! We do not want to hear a single peep out of these pointy-beaked chicks!"

Finally, God, sick to death of all the clucking and quacking and crowing and squawking, not to mention the bad puns, sent a Crane down to the pond. Immediately, the Crane began to eat all of the crazy Chickens and angry Ducks, scooping them up in his bill and swallowing them whole, even without any dipping sauce.

"WAIT!" cried the Chickens, as they were gulped up by the Crane. "What is going on here? We didn't even know that a crane would eat other birds! All we wanted was for the Ducks to be gone from the pond, and now we're all being swallowed alive?"

"That's right!" screamed the Ducks, as they disappeared down the Crane's beak and into his swelling belly. "Cranes eat frogs, not Ducks and Chickens! This is ridiculous! Besides, we asked for help in getting rid of these Chickens, and, instead, this is what happens? Now we're up the creek without our paddle!"

But God just smiled and the Crane continued eating until every Duck and every Chicken was gone from the pond and the place returned to some sense of quiet and normalcy. (Well, except for the Crane, who had a terrible stomach ache after eating two entire populations and spent the next three days vomiting and having diarrhea.)

Moral: Don't complain about a zoning issue to a vengeful and mysterious God.

The Crafty Crane and the Frogs Who Were Concerned About Values

Once, a group of frogs lived peaceful froggy lives on the edge of a lake, croaking and eating flies and passing laws that guaranteed as peaceful a life as a frog could have. The frogs were not pretentious and really didn't ask anything more than a fly in their belly and a pleasant summer night sky filled with stars to compliment their singing. The good lives of the frog citizens passed this way for many years.

One day, a crane and his crafty cronies descended from the sky, prepared to fill their own bellies with frogs. But, as they headed to the frog's corner of the lake, one of the frogs held up a flipper to stop them. "Wait," he ordered to the cranes, who froze, for they were not accustomed to being spoken to that way, especially by their dinner. "You cannot come here. Frog Law 50172.36 under the revised code forbids cranes from entering this corner of the lake. You'll have to move along."

Since most frogs fancied themselves lawyers, they all pretty much knew the revised code of Frog Law by heart.

The cranes were sorely angry, for they were being denied dinner by the rule of law. They gnashed their beaks and splashed their pointy feet and generally acted like fools, but there was nothing they could do against the rule of law, so they ultimately sulked away to a far corner of the lake, trying to find it satisfying to eat a few slimy fish.

But one crane, the main crane, was particularly crafty, and, knowing that frogs often held their elections in the late summer, returned to the frog corner of the lake the very next day. Immediately, he was greeted by another annoying frog quoting him the revised code, but this time, rather than gnashing his beak, he waved the poor fellows croaks off with one dismissive wing. "Okay, okay," said the crafty crane, "I'm well aware of your revised code. In fact, I've come not to cause trouble with my gnashing beak and my splashing feet, but rather to participate in your democracy. This is still a democracy, is it not?"

The frogs, offended that the crane would have the audacity to even question that, ribbitted in agreement.

"Well then, I have come to throw my hat into the ring as President of the Frogs." The crane bowed in an attempt to appear humble. "You see, I have long wished to serve the greater public, and, when I approached your corner of the pond, and I witnessed a group of frogs governed by such as powerful rule of law, I thought to myself, 'Self, this is a place where you can finally fulfill your destiny as a leader'."

"We have plenty of leaders!" croaked a cantankerous old bullfrog. "We have frog leaders, who represent frog interests and care about frogs. We don't need a crane as a leader!" Several other frogs let out belches of agreement.

"Mmmm, hmmmm..." the crane hummed, stroking this extremely long chin. "Well, if these leaders are so caring and have such an interest in frogs, why have they let your culture slide so far? Frogs leaving their families, frogs sitting around all day on lillypads with no ambition beyond looking good, frogs that, in an abomination to all that is natural, actually eat their own tadpoles. The current frog government is out of touch with the common frog. They are elitists who have no idea what is truly important. They don't care that those peacocks on the left coast of this lake pollute your frog air waves with filth and smut of every color and flavor. They don't care that butterflies are marrying other butterflies, then demanding benefits at the expense of taxpaying frogs. They don't care that your schools, your own frog schools, no longer allow a morning croak at the flagpole, or that the name of the Almighty Frog could be taken out of the Pledge of Frogligence. They see a choice, not a tadpole. So, I ask you, fellow frogs, who really represents what is important to you? Who really shares your ideals and knows your values? A bunch of dragonfly-latte drinking, college educated frogs with a superiority complex that work in cahoots with the liberal peacocks and butterflies? Or me, a hat wearing, gun toting, FrogSCAR loving crane."

When the crane finished his speech, the gathered frogs began to croak in loud agreement, splashing their legs in the water (except for the bullfrog, who had nodded off). And, the next day, with record voter turnout, the frogs elected the crane as their President, knowing that, despite the previous years of protection, equality, and prosperity the frogs had enjoyed, it was the crane who truly represented their interests in upholding froggy morals.

"My first act as President," the crane announced, "Is to strike from the revised code Frog Law 50172.36 and allow all cranes full access to this corner of the lake!" With the rule of law now changed in their favor, the other cranes immediately swooped in and began, following the lead of the frog president, to snatch the frogs in their beaks, gulping down the screaming frogs without even chewing.

"Mr. President, sir!" the frogs screamed as they watched their neighbors and relatives being eaten alive,"What are you doing? You promised to uphold values, to see that the butterflies and peacocks didn't spread their filth, and that no frogs would ever eat their own tadpoles again! You said you were just like us, and held beliefs that matched ours, that you'd bring change to our twisted culture! But here you are now, with your friends, devouring our whole society!"

The crane swallowed a gut-busting mass of squirming and struggling frogs, for even cranes would not talk with their mouths full, then said, "But I'm doing just what I promised. Your culture is obviously changing with every swallow of your loved ones. The peacocks and the butterflies never will bother you again, and there will be no tadpoles left to eat when my friends and I are done!" And, to illustrate that point, the crafty crane dipped his mouth in the lake water and slurped up a beak full of terrified tadpoles. And then his friends ate the frogs that questioned them in the first place.

Moral: Values are relative, but frog legs are tasty.