The bloated pigeon

So I was walking down the street the other day and I saw a large bloated pigeon. Just like a pigeon he was struttin and bobbin, but this one real clumsy-like—it seems someone had injected this bird with steroids, you see, 'cause I tell you the dude had an abnormally robust gizzard, which I know you don't know but it's an obvious sign of a doped-up bird.

So like I approached birdie and asked, all jokey, ‘Hey, where’d you get feathers so big--you’re ripped like Mr. Universe, chirpy pie!’ But he’s all mean and he’s like ‘Squawk! Squeak! Nibble nibble,’ and all of a sudden he flies at me, and tries to peck out my face! And I was all like ‘Whoa, chill out, fatass.” So I just sat down on the bench opposite this bird and let him be, instead of trying to help him figure out who the hell doped him up with the ‘roids, and gettin my face pecked at for thanks.

And then next thing along comes a bigass-mother Cadillac truck SUV with tinted windows, and it damn near runs the both of us over sitting on that bench! First I was just like “Holy shit, a car!” and then I was like “Whoa, birdy, that was close.” And I guess I wasn’t so upset at this big tweety for trying to peck me then, since we both just had a near-death experience or some shit like that. So I threw some sandwich crumbs down for ol' Musculo-gizz, said see yah and went about my business. And when I get home I phone the authorities, sayin they shouldn’t damn well put park benches at the edges of goddamn four-lane highways, cuz that’s where this bench where I sat looking at the pigeon was, right at the edge of the curb--which is why we were damn near run over by that bigass Caddy in the first place!

All this proves my point like I always said: birds that don’t squawk real loud, who don’t try to peck out your face, usually don’t gotta put up with choking inner city traffic and rampant freakin steroid abuse. Hell yall, screw it: I’m moving to Wasaga where there's not so much crazy pigeons and insane shit everywhere all the time.

Thoughts on swine

Have you ever wanted to approach a big pig on the street and laugh at his curly-Q tail, and then stomp about like a screaming banshee and ask everybody on the sidewalk out for drinks--your treat--and then at the bar you rub it in even more, pretending to apologize to the pig and his little tail for insulting them, but when he's about to accept your apology you get up again and say "Yeah, right, Oinkzilla--ha, I'm just playin! You're as ugly and illin as ever with that laughable little dangly thingy!" and then suddenly you wake up and realize it was all a dream, so you get out of bed and go to the washroom, but when you reach to grab your toothbrush you find it's been replaced, by a BRISTLING PIG TAIL?? And so you have to brush your teeth with the thing you had insulted. Stupid poetic dream justice.

Seminal statement

Here is the first verse of a poem (written by me, natch) that represents my philosophy on life, writing, etc. This is something of a flagship posting, a ribbon-cutting ceremony of sorts, as I unleash onto your unsuspecting brains the true wrath of my monstrous psyche. Or whatever.

Ahem,



pelican man

Looking for the pelican man
always flies where he can’t stand
swallow worlds of fish and clam
he lives in never never land

never known him, to deny
tends toward philosophy
his dialectic iron clad
he’ll argue you to Hyderabad

Pelican bird, wing of steel
beak to snap a turtle shell
eyes finer than a china comb
inner sensor leads him home

legs so supple, liver good
his kidneys do as kidneys should
gizzard is a masterpiece
feathers light like heaven’s yeast

I can’t explain, such peli-charm!
ornithic song of sweet disarm;
he has a way
of opening up
and then you open up
and then you never shut up
about him
Like a celebrity that way.

He’s a king, this pelican
sceptre golden in his craw
lineage that rules man
son of god or superman
(I’ve heard the pope is quite a fan)

O you turkeys with your tryptophan
know the joys of pelican!
you can’t believe it, but I can
he’s my pal, the pelican man

Today is a wonderful day, a new beginning; we are at the cusp of something incredible (ok maybe not) and original (most certainly not): my blog site.

On this site I will throttle your mind with ridiculous notions, profane statements, and awful works of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. I am online therefore I am.