To Kill a ... eh, nevermind

In this solemn hour it is a consolation to recall and to dwell upon our repeated efforts for peace. All have been ill-starred, but all have been faithful and sincere. This is of the highest moral value--and not only moral value, but practical value--at the present time, because the wholehearted concurrence of scores of millions at least 3 or 4 men and women, whose co-operation is indispensable and whose comradeship and brotherhood are indispensable, is the only foundation upon which the trial and tribulation of modern war can be endured and surmounted. This moral conviction alone affords that ever-fresh resilience which renews the strength and energy of people in long, doubtful and dark days. Outside, the storms of war may blow and the lands may be lashed with the fury of its gales, but in our own hearts this Sunday morning Thursday afternoon, there is peace.

Our hands may be active, but our consciences are at rest.

- - -

Imagine if you will, a more peaceful time. A time when bird and man lived, if not in perfect harmony, then at least with begrudging respect for one another.

That era has ended, my friends. We are at war. We are under siege.

It's a new time, a time where most importantly, we keep our wits about us. We must focus on the task at hand: defending our households from Mimidae.

* * *

Along with the sweet onset of spring/summer out here in the Novalands, popsicles and crocuses in bloom and toddlers in shift dresses and shit, here also looms the mockingbirds. OH THE MOCKINGBIRDS. THE BIRDMANITY.* The little effers are ruining my pathetic existence, an existence concerned mostly with oversleeping every morning.

The trouble with mockingbirds:

1. These flying monsters are pure evil, constructed from the loins of Satan himself, red flaming eyes and larynxes to match. So, problem #1: Satan.

2. They taunt, they tease, they swoop, they TALK. Oh sweet Janice Dickinson, do they ever talk. This particular bird, across the street, talks all night long. Usually he’ll shut up right around 2:00 AM, but just to catch his breath so he can start scream-singing again by 2:20. The N. did go outside once around 3 in the morning, clad only in gym shorts, to shake the trunk of the tree where Satan has set up residence. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to result in any friendships – certainly not from the squawking bird, and probably not from our very confused neighbor who may or may not have called the cops. Anyways, the bird is throwing all-niters: loud, loud all-niters, in the creepy, many-faceted scream they are known for. At first we thought it was some sort of sick prank – maybe a neighbor was playing a tape recorder of a screaming incoherent asshole, just for kicks. Turns out, the bird has simply learned how to speak “Nearby Elementary School Air Conditioner” and “Whining Poodle.”

3. There has to be a mole. A spy has learned of our bird torture-followed-by-slow-death schemes. THE MBs HAVE BEGUN PREEMPTIVE STIRKES. If you saw me a few days ago screaming “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” in the church parking lot next door, it’s because BD and I were under full-fledge aerial attack.



So, birders out there: help. How best to off a mockingbird? Tiny, tiny cement blocks around their ankles, and then a visit to the river? Bird flu? Or at least make it fly off to harass someone else’s neighborhood? I hear Atlanta is quite lovely this time of year, and since NUN won’t be around, maybe a certain someone will be in need of nocturnal company.


Other things I like:

- Clearview

- Oxford Project

- Danny Gregory’s new book: I have to fess up- I hate the title. But I like his work at TMN, so onto my wishlist it goes.

- My IPod just reminded me how good the Kinks are.





* This would be the appropriate time to tell all three PIAB readers that birds and my family clan do not have the best of history. My father once cut down a 60 year old pin oak in order to “keep those little bastards from taking anymore dumps on my car.” Also, he used to throw rocks at them. Also, he tied teeshirts to the rear-view mirrors. Also, he bought a STUFFED & MOUNTED EAGLE (“Eddie”) AND SET IT ON HE ROOF OF MY MOTHERS CAR IN ORDER TO SCARE THE SMALLER, SHITTING BIRDS. AND INSTEAD MY MOM FORGOT IT WAS THERE AND DROVE OFF. * * There is more to this story, but I’m spent.

** rednecks, the whole lot of them.