Tag Archives: birds

Hey Birds:

30 Jan

cat-coot

So I hear cats are killing two billion of you per year.  Listen up: you can FUCKING FLY, for Christ’s sake. If cats were taking out penguins that’s one thing, but you can FUCKING FLY. You sit on a telephone wire all day. If you can’t keep an eye out in your five minutes on the ground eating some old woman’s stale Wonder Bread and FLY AWAY when you see a cat, I have no sympathy. Good riddance, you winged jerkoffs.

To Kill a Cockblockingbird

31 Jul

When I killed a mockingbird, I of course went and looked up what killing a mockingbird was supposed to mean in TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD.  I figured it was some deep voodoo curse or something.  Some backwoods Alabama legend where you kill a mockingbird and your family is cursed and your children and your children’s children.

Turns out, no, it’s just Gregory Peck being an asshole.  What he’s saying is: if you are going to kill a bird, do not kill the mockingbird in particular.  Kill a blue jay instead, because the blue jay’s call is annoying.  Whereas the mockingbird creates beautiful songs.

Which– it depends. The mockingbirds around here aren’t covering nightingales or some shit like that.  What mockingbirds do is move into an area and sing the songs of competing birds to fake them out.  So a sparrow flies by, considers nesting, and then hears the song of another sparrow and thinks: fuck it; I’ll move on. Continue reading

Hollywood

8 Mar

I might lose my job. As a weenie Hollywood “development executive.” Which, fine, I fucking hate my job. Work work work all goddamn day and then come home and read scripts, garbage scripts that will never amount to anything, but I need to read them to preserve relationships. Relationships that will never amount to anything. My job completely eats my life, leaves me a wrecked, miserable shell of a man each day, destroys any chance of my spending time with women and friends, and it doesn’t even fucking pay anything, so fuck my job.

The problem is, after 7 years of doing this– answering phones, learning names, mastering the bizarre mandarin etiquette and arcane structure of Hollywood– I am now only equipped to do this one thing that I hate. I have no choice but to pursue another, similar job. Which, there are two reasons you would want this: to make movies, and to impress girls. Making movies is impossible, and if you have one of these gigs you’re not even around girls enough to impress them. That’s why guys like (REDACTED) have to stock their reception pool with hot young USC pieces of ass– it’s the only exposure they will have to a woman. Most of their life is spent hobnobbing in rooms full of jowelly old William Morris agents. Continue reading