Tag Archives: flying bat

Flying Bats

Bat (2)           A bat just smacked my brother right in the face!  Hahahahahahahaha!  I think I’m gonna pee my pants, I’m laughing too hard.  He was being a Class-A Douche, hitting on my friends, bragging about how much he can bench press and how many curls he did this morning with 50-pound weights.  Like he thinks that’s gonna impress my friends.  I’m like, we’re in the arts program, dude.  The guys that impress my friends actually think and have interesting lives, you know?

My brother steals my friend Melissa’s beer, finishes it, and walks over to the diving board to do his stupid diving trick.  Like we want to stop watching the sunset and talking about Melissa’s photography project just to watch his stupid butt hit the water.  But, he finished the beer and tossed the empty bottle at us just to get our attention.  Just as he jumped off the edge of the board, a bat flew right into his face!  He was screaming when he went under the water!  Blahahahahaha!

Yeah, of course he’s okay, but now he’s walking around all pissed off about bats flying around the house, and yelling that he’s gonna need rabies shots.  What an idiot.  It’s not like the bat bit him or anything.  Not even a scratch!  He’s just got some kind of macho wounded pride thing going on, and it’s making him even dumber than normal.  He’s got Mom’s tennis racket and he’s just swinging it around at the few bats flying around us.  I’m not gonna lie, I’d freak too if a flying bat hit me in the face.  It just couldn’t have happened more perfectly!  Just when he was perfecting the Douche Cliché, he gets smacked by a flying bat.

Melissa’s got her camera out and she’s capturing the moment.  My brother’s conflicted, cuz he obviously wants to impress Melissa, so he’s not yelling at her to stop taking his picture or anything, but somewhere deep inside he’s probably aware he’s acting like a spoiled kid.  I have no idea whether her pictures are going to work in her photography show, maybe under the heading of “Wounded Man”, but whatever she doesn’t put up in her gallery, I’m getting from her and putting it in my “Idiot Brother” collection.  Seriously, if you get hit in the face by a flying bat, just laugh about it, don’t make it worse by stomping and yelling and chasing it.

Bat Control

“What’s he doing?”

“He says it’s bat control.”

“Seriously?  He looks . . . he looks like he’s just crazy.”

“I know, right?  But, he says there’s a bat in his dorm room and he’s taking care of bat control by himself.”

The boy in question was a freshman, and was dancing, or jerking around, with a sheet in front of his window at night in a first-floor dorm room.  He’d opened up the window, which is gave all of us a nice view of what was going on.  So far, no one had seen a bat, but this was a lot better than the junk reality show playing in the common room, so a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk and grass outside his window.

“So, if he’s doing bat control, where’s the bat?  All I see is the dude and his sheet.  Weird.”

“No, no!  I see it.”

Bat hanging from a ceiling.
A bat hanging from the ceiling of a freshman dorm room.
(Artwork by Sharon Davis. Contact us for her contact info.)

A bunch of us leaned forward, some squinting, trying to catch a glimpse of the bat in the room.

“There!  There it is!  D’ya see it?”

The freshman had stopped waving his bed sheet for just a moment, long enough for the bat to settle back down in the corner of the wall.  It was big enough to make some of the girls screech and fall back behind some of the guys.  Its pursuer realized he had an audience, and turned to address us, enjoying his moment.

“It’s just a big brown bat, is all.  Dunno how it got in here, but I’m gonna try to make it fly back out the window.”

At this, some of the more squeamish girls fell back even further.

“Dude, use a racket or something!”

“Do you have one I could use?”

“No.  But, I’m sure a sheet ain’t gonna do it.”  The boy just shrugged.

“What if it bites him?” someone asked.

“It’s not gonna bite me, unless I try to hold it in my hands.  I just want to get it out of my room so it doesn’t crap all over everything.”

“Ewwwww,” someone muttered.

Someone else gasped, and the boy whirled around to recommence his herky-jerky-sheet-dance as the bat swooped around the room.  He assumed a bull-fighter’s stance when the bat flew lower through the air.

“I’m tellin’ ya, a sheet’s not gonna do a thing.  You gotta have something like a tennis racket or something,” the self-proclaimed bat control expert asserted, though no one was listening to him.  Everyone was too busy shouting out pointers to the freshman dancing in the window.

“On your left!”

“Up, up, up, up!!!”

“Don’t try to catch it, just scare it out the window.”

This last piece of advice earned the speaker a withering glare from Bat-Boy, as he was now being called.

And, then, suddenly, it was over.  The bat finally swooped out the window and zoomed far out of sight.  Everyone, except for the racket-lover, broke out into spontaneous applause and the boy took a bow, closed his window and his shutters, and everyone drifted off, talking about that night’s excitement.