Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Why has our namesake defiled me? I demand answers and get none.

Trudging to work is usually unpleasant. My bus is filled with ballerinas and pedestrians who, apparently believing I am an apparition of some kind, try to walk through my back. They are unsuccessful. Inevitably, someone sneezes near you, and that someone loathes the idea of sanitary public space, and you and the back half of the bus catch the spray. If only someone was going to see Gallagher; I would've hid behind their plastic watermelon smock.

Today was that typically agitating bus ride. But, since it's par for the morning at this point, I was able to tune it out with closed eyes, a death grip on the hand rail, and some AC/DC.* I got off the bus feeling top notch, despite elbows to the ribs, a complete lack of clean, unstinky seating, and an aforementioned mucus incident. Sure, it was Tuesday, but it was a good Tuesday. Market Street was alive, bums were polite, my pants were clean. The sun was shining, the flowers were in bloom, the birds were...

...well, the birds were shitting on me.

I was half-way to the office and suddenly, my hand was wet. And discolored. And disgusting. I looked up and, if pigeons could smile, that pigeon smiled, flapped it's bubonic plagued wings, and flew away, doubtlessly to crap on other unsuspecting bystanders.

What's traumatizing is that I'm in Birdmonster and I got shat on by a bird-monster. In the hierarchy of urban fowl, the pigeon is the most despicable, most diseased, stupidest, and lowest ranking member. In other words, the most monstrous. The crow and seagull are next in line: both a little grungy, but weirdly majestic in their own way, while the sparrow, well, everyone loves sparrows. (And just to clarify, no, we did not get our name from pigeons; Birdmonster is actually Peter's Dad's maiden name**) Now, shit happens, pun intended, but I'm disturbed by the scatological congruity: the fact that, semantically speaking, I crapped on myself (although I'm actually proud I know so many fecal synonyms). If a dove would've been the culprit, then: perfect; an angelic bird dropping droppings on a monstrous one. But this? Perturbing.

We've got practice tonight & I'm using the above event to read into it. Our practice will be the shit. Or it will be shitty. I just don't know anymore. The only thing I'm sure of is that I haven't washed my hands so many times before noon in my entire life, so, if you want to smell the Ivory-est paws you've ever smelled, you should stop on by.

*Somehow, screaming Australian men in school boy uniforms is really soothing at 8 a.m. Why? I'm not sure. We have our scientists hard at work on this.

**Apologies to Peter for plagiarizing his joke. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, plagiarism is putting roofies in your drink.


Gasoline Hobo said...

i'm not a fan of sparrows. a sparrow killed my brother. that's actually why i'm a hobo. i'm sworn to avenge my brother's death, and i wander the world in search of the sparrow who separated my brother's wheat from his chaff.

of course, the sparrow probably died about 12 years ago, but what the hell - hoboing grows on you. as do other things, but we won't speak of that.

my only advice is to try to refrain from licking your hand for a while. and let us not speak of gallagher again. or gallagher 2.

birdmonster said...

I'm going to defy you no less than three lines after your demand.

Gallagher 2! Did you know he's Gallagher 1's brother & that the OG Gallagher lets his less talented brother do everything in his act except smash a watermelon? I find that hilarious. I wonder if Gallagher 2 smashes honeydews or bok choi instead. You can only wonder. Or, you know, I guess you could go watch his show. Which you won't. Nor will I. Let speculation suffice for now.

rachael said...

the two of you could start a blog from your banter back and forth alone.

and of course, i'd read.

Megan said...

id accually have to say that the birdmonsterness is accually quite good at attracting bird feces. seeing as the birdsweatshirt has been shat apon a few times itself. THe wonders that are creaures in which cannot control there body functions and happen to fly. i mean whos great idea was that ...lets have the fling things shit on people that sounds fun. oh well i supose thats what washing machines are for.

Dahlgren's Daddy said...

The English sparrow is a mean little bastard. Audobon folks actually set sparrow traps because these non-native birds destroy the nests and eggs of their dreaded enemy, the bluebird.

No, really, I'm not bullshitting you.

Remember, Hemingway killed pigeons in Paris and ate them. Before the royalties hit.

birdmonster said...

Rachael: That's a fine idea. Somehow, I will make this happen, in some bizarre & half-assed way. Oh yes.

Megan: Hmm. A disturbing development. I hope you had the hood on.

DD: Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sizzling of pigeon meat. What do you think? A nice mustard cream sauce maybe?