for the birds
Maybe it's because I dreamed about the world being on fire last night, or maybe it's because when I wasn't dreaming about armageddon, I was being awakened by 53 different species of birds who decided to throw a raucous party outside my window last night, but I am in one hell of a crappy mood today.
Maybe it's the cloud of death that is hanging over the world right now. Maybe it's the unsettling feeling of impending doom that smacks me in the face every time I find something to be happy about.
No, it's the birds.
I officially hate birds. We've got them all; crows, seagulls, owls, pigeons, whatever those brown birds are and whatever those othe brown birds are. We have the occasional sighting of a bluejay or a cardinal, but that doesn't make up for the lower class of birds who hang out in my yard. It's like bird ghetto.
So last night they had a party. I'm assuming it was a bachelor party. I could tell because eventually wolf whistles replaced bird calls. These birds hooted and howled all night long, letting up only when the odd squirrel would jump down from the telephone wire and scare the crap out of them. And then there would be a hundred flapping wings all at once, like a thunderclap of feathers.
As soon as the rogue squirrel left, the birds would come back to their party, dragging even more strays in with them.
At one point there was a fight. From what I could tell, the wife of one of the birds showed up just as the stripper bird was about to give him a beak dance. There was a lot of screeching, feathers flying and I'm sure I heard a crow laughing. Probably as he was eating the remains of that poor husband.
The thing is, I wouldn't mind if they only threw parties once in a while. But this is a hearty bunch. Day and night, night and day, never a dull moment in the great oak tree by my bedroom window.
Maybe it's a frat house?
Well, things are about to get ugly. No, I'm not going to call the cops. Something tells me they would laugh. But I am going to get myself a BB gun. And I am going to break up that flock of seagulls and friends like Rambo in an aviary.
Tomorrow, the squirrels will feast on fratboy wings and breast of sparrow-slut. Maybe I'll invite the raccoons over as well.
Go ahead, call me a murderer, call PETA on me, I don't care. I am sick to death of these selfish birds disturbing my sleep. I'm tired of dreaming that crows with ten foot wingspans are pecking at my head. I'm tired of their whistles and hoots and tweets. And you know what? Birds don't even say tweet. Who made that shit up? They just scream in a shrill, high voice until another bird finally pays attention to them, and then the other birds screams back.
Maybe they're just doing a bird karaoke duet.
this post brought to you by sleep deprivation