Children, they are the future. Binghamton prepares you for the future. So then, it would seem natural that Binghamton and children would go together hand in hand. I mean, we do have our own child development center thing. I would kill for a racetrack designed for my very own Big Wheel.

Anyway — would you believe it if I told you that Binghamton has not always batted a thousand when it comes to a child’s needs? Surprise, surprise, you silly little wombats, this week’s rejected merchandise deals with one such failure. You’d think that a line of illustrated children’s books starring everyone’s favorite Bearcat, one Mr. Baxter, would be a favorite of kids and adults for generations to come. Of course, you thought wrong, and so did the brilliant minds that collaborated on this project.

Originally the brainchild of Dr. Fl√É.√ºbz, a former professor of Human Development, the “Baxter’s Adventures In Harpurland” series of books started out innocently enough. The first title, “Baxter Buys a Meal Plan,” told the story of a hungry Bearcat on the prowl for a delicious lunch. When an enchanted pickup truck-driving opossum offers Baxter a sandwich high in saturated fat and hydrogenated soybean oils, Baxter accepts. When Baxter’s aorta solidifies and his heart seizes, he learns a very important lesson: Life is better when you die young, so spend your money now and eat the greasiest, most magical forest fodder you can find ‘til you’re nice and plump.

Things quickly started going south faster than a carpetbagger during Andrew Johnson’s administration. The second Binghamton-themed piece of children’s literature, entitled “Baxter Smells a Skunk,” was a thinly-veiled propaganda piece for legalization.

In this parable, Baxter is casually walking through a chem-free hallway, somewhere in College-in-the-Woods, when he detects the unmistakable scent of his woodland nemesis, Samuel the Scatterbrained Squirrel. Samuel is notorious in the Nature Preserve for constantly getting sprayed by skunks, and also having torrid extramarital interspecies sex with Baxter’s wife, Cosette.

Incensed, Baxter tracks down the source of the smell, which is conspicuously emanating from underneath a boys suite door. Expecting to find his wife being nailed by Samuel, Baxter bursts into the suite’s common room, ready to feast upon squirrel flesh. Instead, he finds a group of starry-eyed freshmen and sophomore fish, smiling, swimming and giggling. After Baxter explains his mistake and apologizes, he is assured things are “cool” and is offered a puff from the “Bongtastic Bowl of Barracudas.” Baxter takes several deep hits, after which he exits the suite, red-eyed and content to hunt down and kill his wife’s lover another day.

Needless to say, the subtle message of that particular fable was not lost upon observant parents. Upset that their 4- and 5-year-olds were coming home from day care smelling like Rastafarians, the parents and/or guardians of these children stormed the campus bookstore with bombs strapped to their chests.

“If our children are going to read this smut,” proclaimed the leader of the protestors, “then we don’t want to be in a world where our children are perverted by this pornographic garbage.”

“But don’t you think it’s better to actually explain to them what they’re reading?” asked a friendly store clerk, “Instead of just killing yourselves in the name of a cause?” He was met with an answer of liquefied organs and muscle, as all the angry parents detonated at once, leaving the bookstore coated in a lovely shade of crimson.

Unfortunately, the “Baxter’s Adventures In Harpurland” line of books wasn’t printed on acid-free paper, so the acrid stomach contents of the exploded parents rendered each volume unreadable. No copies are known to exist today, and for many people, the memory of such horrendous books are best left dissolved, like the bound copies themselves. Dr. Fl√É.√ºbz hasn’t been heard from since. It’s suspected he joined a utopian commune somewhere near Oneida (not the town, but the building where Baxter purportedly smelled his “skunk”). Whatever the case may be, what a mess that was, eh?