Sometimes, when I am bored or when I am idling on the Internet or simply needing my eyes on something, I go onto YouTube and I look up videos of parrots. They can talk and cackle and bite: they can do anything, which is really awesome and makes for some entertaining videos. Parrots are online court jesters. The only thing they threaten you with is a good time.
Sometimes I just play this in the background. It just play it and play it and play it. “Alright, alright, alright,” I mutter. A coworker looks at me, “What did you say?” I say nothing. I shake my head no. “Alright, alright, alright,” the online bird says. I click and play it again.
Videos of parrots dancing are an extremely popular sub-genre of parrot videos. They just go crazy when music plays. Look at this happy guy? He’s so happy. He loves Psy. Fucking gangnam style.
I cannot yell into a cup myself at work (It would be too loud.) so I sometimes imagine that I am Harley The Parrot, a bird content with hollering into an orange toy. I have watched this video a lot. This seems like fun. He looks like he’s having fun: just look at the feathers on his head.
This bird likes to curse. He talks like a dead New Yorker who hides under your bed, catcalling you as you sleep, potentially slapping his thighs in delight as he pets your hair. He probably has jizzed on you at some point.
Sometimes I get heated and I want to pant, in anger. One of my dogs gets so excited that he does this heavy breathing panting that sounds like a laugh. I’ve actually read that that type of panting is a “social pant” and is technically how a dog expresses laughter.
Birds indoors scare me. I would never want to be in the same room as a parrot. Outside? That sounds great. They can fly away. I can hide. Or let them fly. There is enough room to let them roam in the sky, unconfined. Birds indoors have a limit: there is a ceiling. I can only travel on one plane (The ground.) so I do not appreciate birds or any other flying creature inside who can leap from their plane, to the level of my eyes or ears or mouth and attack. Never trust things that can fly and that are indoors. Your options of avoidance are limited.
I don’t care to know how to pet a bird inside. Outside? Yes, I said that: I would pet a bird outside. Take this bird outside.
“He’s so proud of himself,” I think. For what? For gleefully thinking about being able to peck the eyes out of James Bond’s head and nibble on their sockets as he squishes the corneas between his talons.
If something can speak a language, then they can speak your language. I’m pretty sure this is in the bible and marked as an abomination next to homosexuality and beastiality: any beast that can transcend their caste is evil.
Once a language is mastered, they can use it against us. They can revolt. A Planet Of The Apes film with just birds would be horrifying. They can attack you in all directions: I already said that. They ask you for kisses and then they tell you to shut up and then they ask you what you are doing and then they tell you to shut up and stop it.
Then they turn. Then they only speak to you in, “SHUT THE FUCK UPS.”
They just want to kill us. They want our blood.
Welcome to hell, motherfucker.