What’s in Your Emergency Polar Bear Chase Kit?

Hey, you never know

This is a picture I found in an online article about unexpected tips and tricks that might save your life.

On the surface it makes perfect sense. I mean, yes, if you’re being chased by a polar bear you definitely want to slow him down.

But I have questions.

1. What does it mean to say the polar bear will “thoroughly” inspect your dropped clothing? What’s he looking for? “Ooh, this is a quality weave here—and nice of them to include a spare button. Is this permanent press?” I think in this case “thoroughly” means long enough for the bear to realize “What the hell, I can’t eat this” and resume his pursuit.

2. Do you really want to take off an article of clothing—or multiple articles—this close to a polar ice cap? Shouldn’t the advice be to keep a pocketful of extra clothing articles with you? For that matter, does it have to be clothing? Could your emergency polar bear chase kit include, for instance, a bunch of handkerchiefs? Would the polar bear be inclined to stop and sniff a dish towel or an ascot?

3. Wouldn’t the polar bear figure out after sniffing the first item that you’re trying to trick him and thus be completely disinclined to bother with the second? And wouldn’t this make him more determined to continue the chase and teach you a lesson?

4. Shouldn’t this advice also include a precautionary measure like “When taking a stroll around the Arctic Circle, always stay within running distance of where you’ve parked your vehicle”?

5. Considering the questions above, should I just carry a seal carcass with me and discard that as soon as I notice I’m being chased by a polar bear? Or will that make me more likely to be chased in the first place?

The Incredible Edible Testicle

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Heinz has a neat little promotion running on its individual ketchup packets, the kind you might find and stuff your pockets with in fast-food joints. The promotion is called the United Sauces of America, and each packet features one of the fifty states and a food item popular in that state, one to which you might apply a Heinz condiment. I was in Steak and Shake the other day and happened to find myself with the Montana packet, and the dish chosen to represent that state was Rocky Mountain Oysters.

Yep. Mountain oysters. Cowboy caviar. Swingin’ sirloin. Testicles that used to be inside a bull’s scrotum, since there are only so many euphemisms.

I was surprised, to say the least, to see mountain oysters on a ketchup packet. I thought Heinz missed out on an opportunity to have an individual tagline for each state’s dish, e.g. “Heinz. The one sauce to have when you’re having more than one. Testicle.”

Back where I grew up in Indiana, some of the local restaurants would occasionally have “All you can eat mountain oyster night.” I never attended because zero mountain oysters are all I can eat. But I was definitely curious to know how many were in a serving. Did they bring them out two at a time or in a big pyramid? And what’s the average number of mountain oysters consumed at one of these all-you-can-eat shindigs? How many does the restaurant need to order? A gross? A thousand? Can the customer ask for an odd number to start with or do they prefer not to break up a set?

It was one of my farm-kid friends from high school who first asked me if I’d ever tried mountain oysters, which was the perfect set-up to the punch line “Man, I wouldn’t even put my own in my mouth.”

But never say never. Maybe someday if I’m in Montana. Maybe with lots of Heinz ketchup.

I just noticed there could be some confusion in the transition between the two previous paragraphs. Please be assured that the “never say never” paragraph refers to mountain oysters.

As Long As We’re In That Area

Today’s newsletter has taken a strange turn and I don’t know how we got from polar bears to testicles but now that the topic has dropped below the waist I do want to note that it took me years to realize why the doctor had me turn my head and cough while he gave me the hernia test. For a long time I assumed there was a physiological reason, like the movement of the neck muscle would fool the hernia into revealing itself.

But no, it’s just so you aren’t coughing right into the doctor’s hair.

For that matter, I’ve always wondered who came up with the hernia test. Who made the connection between the grabbing and the coughing? Obviously it was someone with a better grasp of anatomy than me, but here’s how I think it came about. I’m picturing the hospital cafeteria and a handful of doctors sitting at a table enjoying lunch. Presently they’re joined by a colleague who can barely contain his excitement. “I’ve got it,” he says. “I think we could test for hernia by grabbing a guy’s dooleys and making him cough.”

I also picture the other doctors going “Oh, Bob, that’s your answer for everything. Last week you said that’d be a good test for glaucoma.”

However it came about, I tip my hat to whomever came up with the hernia test. Thanks to that dedicated pioneer, countless hernias have been prevented. Or fixed. Or discovered. Or whatever the hell it is they’re doing down there.