Birds. Fucking birds.

If there is any lonelier place to be than sharing a 4 AM morning with a cup of coffee and the early birds of summer, I would like to hear it. I challenge you to find it. If it's the bottom of a well? At least you can scarce hear the perpetual songs of those impudent fucking song birds out and about. Catching worms. Flying. Makes a man want to conduct a predawn shotgun raid on their ill-begotten bliss. I doubt the BPD would take kindly to such a violent resolution to my problem. Still. Glue traps maybe. Staple some cats to the roof. Cyanide aerosol. I dunno. I refuse to wear earmuffs. Nature can take the fall on this one.

Comments

Limegirl said…
What the hell are you doing up at 4AM? If anyone is up at 4AM, it should be because they never went to bed, not because they woke up.
Quaddle said…
Indeed you are right. Bed is for the weak and for the wise, and I am neither.
Duke said…
I take issue with your disdain towards our feathered vocalists. Perhaps they’ve been churned into a frenzy from your impudent typing at the ass crack of dawn.

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