Once upon a time... No, wait, that's too common, not really what I want. O.K., I got it: Two million days ago, in a land that nobody really knows where it is, lay a castle. Inside, a prince (not a princess this time) was confined. He was christened Prince Harry the Hairy and wasn't fast asleep and wasn't waiting for true love's kiss. Actually, he didn't want to be rescued at all. Instead, he spent days writing poetry (yes, he's odd). Since they were so stupid, I shall not recite them (you have to believe me on that: They don't even rhyme!)
But Harry got bored and began planning to escape. One day, inspiration hit him in the form of a dead bat (right on the noggin). "Hey," he said, tying the animal to his back. "With these wings I will be able to fly home!" (Did I also mention that he was stupid? No. Well, he is) With the bat on his back, he climbed onto the tip of the roof of the castle's tallest tower and jumped. Inevitably, the small bat was dead and so were the wings, so, poor Harry fell to his death.
Moral: A bat can only support so much weight when it's living; it can't support anything when it's dead.