Birds, the bastards

I hate birds.

Well, that's not entirely true. I hate pigeons and seagulls and vultures and other flappy birds that congregate for no reason other than to inhibit their already limited food supplies and make us irritable humans even more pissed off than is our default. You think, by now, they'd have figured out that, if they travel alone, they're going to survive better, but apparently not. 

I hate the way there'll be hundreds of them, pigeons, mostly, covering an entire pavement, pecking away at nothing and generally just being in the way. And then, to your dismay, you find you need to traverse the pigeons to get to a location on the other side of them - but they've formed a birdy carpet on the ground, damnit! Yes, there's another way to get there, but it's a twenty-five-minute walk down every single dark, lawless alleyway the city you've found yourself in has to offer, all of which you know from previous experience are completely void of reception, and you're in a bit of a rush and you have no desire to be murdered and raped [though preferably in that order, if it has to happen] - and so you clutch your bag a wee bit tighter to your chest, take a deep breath, and plough with all the bravery and intention of Braveheart into the sea of winged opposition, well knowing it could be your last battle.

And - instead of obeying the simple size-equals-power laws of nature engrained into most organisms' innate beings along with the natural fear of anything hairy, spiky, tentacled or feral - the little shits come flying at you! All of them! Bravado lost, you scream in horror and are, within seconds, reduced to curling into a ball on the floor, sobbing your eyes out and banging your head against the asphalt for being so stupid as to ever think you could defeat a colony of malicious, diabolical, heinous, villainous, bloody birds. Original goal forgotten, you climb onto the first bus headed for home, crying softly to yourself and wondering what your purpose in life is now your trauma and, now, lifelong phobia has been established for the world to chortle at.

Damn pigeons.

All that said, I do like flamingoes. And ostriches. And puffins.

Maybe it's just birds of flight I'm not so keen on, then. Smug wankers. "Look at me, with my functional wings! I'll have none of your flightless crap, chicken." My cat could take you bastards on any day, bastards.

Quote of the Day: Labour, ready! Tories, ready! BRING ON THE WALL! [Russell Howard, Mock the Week; unlikely things to hear on a TV election debate]