You’d never believe this but I have a couple of minor phobias. I know I have just shaken your world with that news flash.
So, let’s start with birds, shall we?
I actually like to watch birds as they soar through the sky and perch in trees. They are lovely to look at and listen to with their melodic chirping.
But, if you get one of those fuckers on the ground and pecking near my ankles, I will go all Tarantino-style ape shit on them.
I have this terrible phobia of birds on the ground. It skeeves me out to no end. I’m only slightly more comfortable if they are not on terra firma. But, still not a fan of flapping wings around my head either.
This tends to be a problem because so many of my friends and enemies (many of who will be commenting on this blog I have no doubt) are buying into this foul (do NOT excuse that pun) craze of becoming “urban farmers” or, as I call them, Crazy Chicken People.
These are people who don’t quite have the cojones to just go live on a farm but clearly can’t be bothered to drive to the goddamn grocery store to feed their insatiable need for huevos.
They start these mini petting zoos in the back yards of their suburban tract homes and get all superior because they are “eating sustainably”. I thought that was the whole purpose of eating anyway. To sustain. Clearly I’m missing something.
Listen, I don’t have anything against chickens.
Ha!!! Actually, that’s a lie. I don’t know why I even said that. I freakin’ hate chickens. I’ll eat them, no problem. Happily, in fact, since that will mean one less avian terrorist in the world.
I’ve had a checkered past with non-flying birds. I believe I was allowed to watch The Birds at an entirely too young age. The scene when Suzanne Pleshette and Tippi Hedren are walking the kids through the school yard through a sea of stinking crows and other feathered miscreants clearly was the beginning of the end of my relationship with these creatures.
There used to be an evil wild turkey that lived outside my building at Microsoft. The ugly fuck hung out like a turkey version of Travis Bickle. All lunatic attitude just waiting for some trouble.
It would mean a mad run from my car to the door to avoid being attacked. Literally. I mean it. It would peck your eyes out just as soon as smell your fear.
I had a bag of rocks I kept in my car and would pelt it with them as I made my escape.
(By the way, it is virtually impossible to look even remotely cool while blindly running in terror from a squawking bird as you throw rocks at it. Just in case you thought you might want to do that to improve your cool factor. See, I am here to mentor you.)
I always thought it would be a wonderfully liberating gesture to throw an actual bottle of Wild Turkey at the asshole but couldn’t quite stomach the waste of it.
So there you have it. I think you all know now how I feel about this. But, please do let me know if I’ve left anything unclear here.
I leave you with these words to ponder, spoken by an advanced non-avian human.
When birds burp, it must taste like bugs. ~ Bill Watterson