Charlie Vs. The Emu aka “Rumble in the Grundle”

Mar 20, 2006 19:07

I’ve never trusted or liked living things born outside of the womb: birds, fish, test-tube babies. It seems to me they lack the warmth, character, and soul you get from a viviparous birth. I mean, what are they, too good to be birthed live by their own mother? “Sorry mom, I don’t wanna be seen popping head first out of your vagina when I come into this world. Just drop me in an egg and leave me $5.”A poor relationship with your mother is a sign of self hatred and predicts a life-long inability to form loving bonds. Just ask Dr. Phil.
With one strike against them, birds have only made it worse for themselves. For one thing, they are so into their flying thing and always rub it in that they can do it and no one else can. And besides that they’re always doing fucked up shit like stealing that maid’s nose in “Sing a Song of Sixpence” and killing babies and shit in that Hitchcock movie. Face it. Birds are assholes. And there is one asshole that is by far bigger then the rest, the foulest of the fowls, the Emu. Emu is actually Latin for “feathered piece of shit.” I’m serious. Look it up. The Emu is brutish, pushy, and entirely too cocky for a ratite. So today, I fought one.
To preface this, I must tell you I was deported to Bithlo this morning for my court ordered community service. I was pretty shocked when I first checked my paperwork and saw my venue (that’s an industry term) was an exotic animal rescue. To the extent of my knowledge, the most exotic thing in Bithlo was Jamaican patties at the gas station.
My job at the animal shelter/junkyard (I’m really serious on that one) was basically shoveling shit and filling up water buckets. My last cage of the day was shared by a sheep, a goat, and of course, an emu.
I must commend the animals. The three of them got along better with each other then I have with any housemate, and we were usually of the same species. Though if we had dudes on probie come and scoop our shit up for us, things might have fared better.
I got the shit up with no problem. Though I was a little let down by Wooly the sheep. Ever time I got within five feet of him he ran to the other side of the cage. I quickly figured out how the word sheepish got its origins. I couldn’t even get close enough to pet him. I wonder how farmers ever fuck them.
The water bucket is where the trouble began. I was bent over filling it up when I saw a quick movement in my left and felt a jab to the side of my head. Instinctively, I threw a wild right and luckily missed. It was Eddy the Emu throwing bo’s. I imagine if I offered the punched-out and slumped over body of the emu to my probation coordinator, she probably wouldn’t have initialed the “Cooperative with staff” box on my paperwork.
After the shock wore off, I squared up to face my opponent. This would be harder then my previous fighting experience against young women, he had reach and fought southpaw.
He got my hat with his next jab. I had to act quickly before his razor sharp beak tore its nylon netting to shreds. I knew the hose could give me a quick and painless victory, but Eddy had cut-off the route to the spicket. Seeing my weakness Eddy charged and aimed his fangs at my quickly ascending testicles. Just when I though the Weise lineage was about to prematurely perish, the goat charged for Eddy thinking he was looking for a challenge. Eddy dropped my hat and squawked all the way to the back of the cage. I grabbed the hose, sprayed down the bird, took my hat back and locked the gate on my way out with the smug satisfaction that once again, the white man won.
The moral of the story, put aside any past assertions and convictions you have about can eating, the goat is friend of man. I will go out on a limb and say that the goat has been underappreciated by every society except, like, maybe the Chinese. In their country, the goat is regarded as a living god, and those born in the year of the goat are said to posses extreme virility. I actually just made that up, but I’m sure it’s something like that. Admittedly, I don’t know much about the Chinese. To be honest, most of my knowledge of their culture comes from a paper placemat I once read at the Wok and Talk Buffet, but I consider them a smart people and imagine that if there is a year of the goat, it is a prosperous one.
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