“The Fake Ad is on page 42 for the Whippoorwill Bar and Grill,” writes the always reliable David Karl. “Ah yes, who hasn’t been driven to insomnia by the constant nighttime singing of the Whip-poor-will. I know I have. But unlike Thurber’s Mr. Kinstrey, I just took a sleeping pill and called it a night. Much easier, less hassle and mess free.”
If you’re lost, the reference is a 1941 James Thurber short story, in which Mr. Kinstrey goes on a murderous rampage as a result of whippoorwill-induced insomnia.
We also have a good whippoorwill story. Many years ago, the Fake Ad Czar was on a dads-and-lads fishing trip on the Spanish River in Ontario. As the anglers sat around the fire at night, trading stories of pickerel caught and lost, a whippoorwill launched into its incessant call in a nearby tree.
“Whip poor Will! Whip poor Will! Whip poor Will!” On and on.
Someone in the group offered the explanation that the bird was looking for a mate.
“Whip poor Will! Whip poor Will! Whip poor Will!” More than an hour passed. Finally…
“Jeez,” said one of the men, getting up from the fire. “I’ll go out and [mate with] it if that’ll get it to shut up.”
Our winner was Adam Marks. He’s taking his gift certificate to Holiday’s Restaurant.
