A bat can do enough friendly good however

A bat can do enough friendly good however I just k

kneaded my bread dough with my fingers, and then I took a rolling pin to it. I've heard of using a bat to smooth it out, but mine was so big and heavy. So decided to wing it.

You see, when you pack that kind of heavy, puffy, translucent dough piles that I roll with it, plans are out the window. You got to adapt. Improvise. All this dough made my hands r

eally flexible, so that when I waved at my friends, they sort of flapped. "Hello!" (flapflapflapflapflapflapppp) It was embarrassing really. I had no choice. I opened a bakery.

My new bakery could only have one name, "Sweet Flapp'n Confections." SFC for short. I would make winged cakes and angel pies. Who's laughing now! The flying theme was all

inspired by my dear mother; after she was killed in a freak bird-related accident I thought it would be sweet to name my business venture after the way she died. Actually, now that

I thought about it, maybe "Trampled By an Ostrich" wasn't the best name for a diner or the most tactful way to honor my mother's death. But the sign was set & business was booming.

And when shellac-coiffed human cardboard reporters circled the diner for human interest pieces, I put on my best smile and sold the story. The emu burgers. The cassowary pie. All

of it. Every bit. Every crumb. The so-called journalists ate it up, then regurgitated the story in Reader's Digest. The whole thing stuck in my craw. I had to swallow my pride when

the cubs were young to avoid being busted for excess children, and then of course the snippy PTA moms treated me like someone who had eaten their young, which, admittedly, I had.