The World is My Toilet

It must be nice to be a bird. They fly around all day, going anywhere they want, not a care in the world (except for cats). And when they have to go #2, they just do it. Right then. Just drop the kids off at the pool, and let the shit fall where it may. They can even crap on cars and houses and leave presents in mailboxes, too.

If I were to go poo on someone’s car or leave a steaming pile in a mailbox, I’d get arrested. So not fair.

Birds are assholes. Time for target practice.


3 Responses to The World is My Toilet

  1. Pure Evyl says:

    Not too long ago, I think that I had a fucking emu roosting in my trees. I have never seen such shit in my life. I’m with you. Damned birds.

  2. Chris says:

    In high school this girl was walking across the courtyard at lunch with a half dozen of her friends. As I turned in her direction, my friends and I noticed a bright white bloch appear on her dark forehead. It took up at least half of her head. Above circling were a flock of seagulls (not the band). Now I’m sure had she calmly wiped the scree off her forehead, that would have been the end of it, and I wouldn’t have remembered it. But instead she screamed histerically and ran around like she was auditioning for a part in Saw 5. Every head turned to witness the spectacle, all of us thankful it wasn’t us.

  3. Evyl: That’s a lot of shit.

    Chris: At least it didn’t hit her in the mouth. And at least it wasn’t the band. That would hurt.

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