Close Encounters of the Bird Kind
So, as I was saying, before being interrupted by the Galapagos turtle, (known for their rude interjections) I was merrily skipping along my way through the park. The trees were in full blossom and the birds were singing in tune. I found it most agreeable to stop and give them an audience, for they had stolen a local homeless man's fedora, in hopes of making a few easy dollars at the expense of park enthusiasts. I obliged, and left three dollars in the brown fedora.
It was not an hour later when I realized I need those three dollars to pay the rest of my grandmother's hospital bills, for she had taken ill with the Scarlet fever. I was most mortified at this revelation and immediately sprinted to the park, hoping to discover the birds still performing their gay tunes.
To my horror, the birds were gone! As anyone does in such situations, I ran in circles until my world spun faster and faster, then I let out a tribal scream, attracting some of the more burly homosexual men, who were of course flying kites that day.
"Where are you, birds?!" I cried. "I know you are here. I need my money back!"
And it just so happened at that moment, the birds returned to the park, hearing my cry, and then paid me an audience. "What is this madness of which you speak, bi-ped?”
“My grandmother is ill, and I am three dollars short of the bill due today. If I do not pay it, they will take her off of life support. You must give me a refund!”
The birds, with their beady dinosaurian eyes, took this request into their tiny avian brains. After much chirping and chipping and slurping and slipping, they made a decision.
“No.” said the birds, menacingly. “We sympathize but we cannot return your money, for you see, we spent it already.”
“What could you possibly buy with three dollars?”
“We bought the cure to Scarlet Fever from a local gypsy at the pharmacy. She goes by the name of ‘Dr. Roberts’. Such strange names gypsies have, no?” I agreed with a subtle nod, but my predicament seemed to take a turn for the better.
“May I trade something of mine for your Scarlet Fever cure? I will do anything!” I begged shamelessly.
“Anything?” said the birds. I sheepishly began to strip down to my loins, exposing my withered and pale
body.
“Jesus Christ! Dude, put your clothes back on! That’s not what we meant!” I quickly put my clothes back on, slightly disappointed, for I had not gotten any sexual release since my wife, Mrs. Havenberry Brandylager was murdered by a local gangster, dressed as a police officer, whom she attacked unprovoked one night after being arrested for shooting a police officer.
“You must be our nest.” said the birds. Quite puzzled, I asked,
“What do you mean?”
Suddenly, the birds produced an AK-47 each from their breasts, and pumped me full of hot lead. They swooped down from the tree, and with their mighty bird strength, carried me up into the tree, where they lived happily ever after. They even had satellite TV put in, because the cable company had screwed them over one too many times.
I’m not sure if my grandmother died that day. I’m in heaven now, so if so, she probably went to hell, for she was known to speak her mind.
The End
It was not an hour later when I realized I need those three dollars to pay the rest of my grandmother's hospital bills, for she had taken ill with the Scarlet fever. I was most mortified at this revelation and immediately sprinted to the park, hoping to discover the birds still performing their gay tunes.
To my horror, the birds were gone! As anyone does in such situations, I ran in circles until my world spun faster and faster, then I let out a tribal scream, attracting some of the more burly homosexual men, who were of course flying kites that day.
"Where are you, birds?!" I cried. "I know you are here. I need my money back!"
And it just so happened at that moment, the birds returned to the park, hearing my cry, and then paid me an audience. "What is this madness of which you speak, bi-ped?”
“My grandmother is ill, and I am three dollars short of the bill due today. If I do not pay it, they will take her off of life support. You must give me a refund!”
The birds, with their beady dinosaurian eyes, took this request into their tiny avian brains. After much chirping and chipping and slurping and slipping, they made a decision.
“No.” said the birds, menacingly. “We sympathize but we cannot return your money, for you see, we spent it already.”
“What could you possibly buy with three dollars?”
“We bought the cure to Scarlet Fever from a local gypsy at the pharmacy. She goes by the name of ‘Dr. Roberts’. Such strange names gypsies have, no?” I agreed with a subtle nod, but my predicament seemed to take a turn for the better.
“May I trade something of mine for your Scarlet Fever cure? I will do anything!” I begged shamelessly.
“Anything?” said the birds. I sheepishly began to strip down to my loins, exposing my withered and pale
body.
“Jesus Christ! Dude, put your clothes back on! That’s not what we meant!” I quickly put my clothes back on, slightly disappointed, for I had not gotten any sexual release since my wife, Mrs. Havenberry Brandylager was murdered by a local gangster, dressed as a police officer, whom she attacked unprovoked one night after being arrested for shooting a police officer.
“You must be our nest.” said the birds. Quite puzzled, I asked,
“What do you mean?”
Suddenly, the birds produced an AK-47 each from their breasts, and pumped me full of hot lead. They swooped down from the tree, and with their mighty bird strength, carried me up into the tree, where they lived happily ever after. They even had satellite TV put in, because the cable company had screwed them over one too many times.
I’m not sure if my grandmother died that day. I’m in heaven now, so if so, she probably went to hell, for she was known to speak her mind.
The End