Showing posts with label asshole birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label asshole birds. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Congratulations Racist Bird!
We all know that birds hold secrets within their hearts, secrets that they conceal only because they lack the capacity for speech. If they could talk they’d be saying shit all the time, mostly about people’s social security numbers and masturbating habits. But some birds have their own secrets to tell: birds like you.
And after you shit on a wizard’s head, he’s going to give you the ultimate curse/gift: he’s going to grant you the ability to speak.
“FUCKING MICKS ARE RUINING AMERICA!” you’ll shout as you stretch your wings. “EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE ONE OF THOSE POTATO FACED FUCKS I JUST WANNA CUT MY OWN DICK OFF, IT’S THAT FUCKING BAD!”
Fortunately we’ve actually institutionalized racism against the Irish, so it won’t be too tough for you. You’ll occasionally have to dodge a rock thrown by a bleary eyed son of Erin, but for the most part you’ll just flit about proudly declaring the ways the Irish have ruined America. Enjoy your new gift, and the solitude that it brings with you as your feathered brothers begin avoiding you now that they know exactly what it is you have to say about the world.
Congratulations Racist Bird!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Congratulations Really Smart Parakeet!
Yesterday you became super-intelligent after three years living in a cage, shitting on newspapers and generally feeling angry at the world for reasons you couldn’t articulate. But yesterday you gained the ability to comment on the things that piss you off, and today you’re going to gain the courage to use them. You’ll start with the biggest issue.
“Look,” you’ll tell the human who elevated you to super-intelligence. “We know you’re lonely, but you should know we all understand what you’re doing when you masturbate.” He’ll start to turn red, but you’ll put your wing out as if to say don’t worry. “It’s cool, we’re not that concerned with it, but I figured you should know. Just in case you wanted to start doing it behind closed doors.”
“Sorry,” he’ll begin, but you’ll again hold your wing up (you’re an expert on body language, probably because birds use a lot of body language to talk in general) to show him it’s okay and that he can just shut his craw.
“We don’t judge,” you’ll inform him. “But you might judge yourself.”
He’ll nod and make you some lunch, which will consist of a bagel with plain cream cheese on it. You’ll peck at it lazily and the two of you will sit across from each other. You’ll both be imagining how much this is like being a married couple who are watching their relationship dissolve, and you’ll suddenly realize why your owner, who is so brilliant, is so alone: he is beyond awful. He’ll always be alone, simply by merit of being a shitty, shitty human being. Which is kind of a shame, because he’s so bright, but also kind of great because his awful genes won’t pass on.
When he finally breaks the silence to ask you “So what do you want to do?” it’ll take all your strength not to snap at him for giving you all this desire to express yourself and such a limited capacity to do so, all your power not to scream at him that he’ll be alone for the rest of his life and for you to instead do a little birdy shrug and ask him:
“What do you have on DVD here?” praying for something even remotely watch-able like Planet Earth or something. You’ll know as soon as you ask that you’ll be disappointed, though.
Congratulations Really Smart Parakeet!
“Look,” you’ll tell the human who elevated you to super-intelligence. “We know you’re lonely, but you should know we all understand what you’re doing when you masturbate.” He’ll start to turn red, but you’ll put your wing out as if to say don’t worry. “It’s cool, we’re not that concerned with it, but I figured you should know. Just in case you wanted to start doing it behind closed doors.”
“Sorry,” he’ll begin, but you’ll again hold your wing up (you’re an expert on body language, probably because birds use a lot of body language to talk in general) to show him it’s okay and that he can just shut his craw.
“We don’t judge,” you’ll inform him. “But you might judge yourself.”
He’ll nod and make you some lunch, which will consist of a bagel with plain cream cheese on it. You’ll peck at it lazily and the two of you will sit across from each other. You’ll both be imagining how much this is like being a married couple who are watching their relationship dissolve, and you’ll suddenly realize why your owner, who is so brilliant, is so alone: he is beyond awful. He’ll always be alone, simply by merit of being a shitty, shitty human being. Which is kind of a shame, because he’s so bright, but also kind of great because his awful genes won’t pass on.
When he finally breaks the silence to ask you “So what do you want to do?” it’ll take all your strength not to snap at him for giving you all this desire to express yourself and such a limited capacity to do so, all your power not to scream at him that he’ll be alone for the rest of his life and for you to instead do a little birdy shrug and ask him:
“What do you have on DVD here?” praying for something even remotely watch-able like Planet Earth or something. You’ll know as soon as you ask that you’ll be disappointed, though.
Congratulations Really Smart Parakeet!
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