Maybe its because I looked like a little baby bird when I was a tot, but I’m fascinated with water buzzards. It’s not cool. It’s not normal. But its the dang truth. They’re so evil and have insanely unproportional genitalia. Don’t believe me? Anyone who took Animal Reproduction at OWU knows whats up. Proof: Ballistic Duck Junk.
At the age of six on our first trip to Disney World, I remember looking around the Magic Kingdom and thinking “F You Minnie, polka dots make you look tubbers. Where the deuce is Daffy and his ducklings?” And now the greatest theme song ever….
Yes, I like to chase ducks, geese, swans, and other water fowl in my spare time. They are meddlesome and their wingspan freaks me out. I’d hunt them if Larry would lend me his air rifle, since I’m pretty sure most gunshops wouldn’t sell me a piece. Then again, it’s the South.
Check this out:
Back in the day, Linda took her chirruns’ over to feed the Geese along the Saw Mill Parkway at the ill-fated Cantina restaurant that I’m pretty sure now serves as a crackhouse for desperate Ardsley housewives. Whattup, Mrs. Zuckerberg? It was here that I first learned about the wrath of overprotective mother geese. We got chased out of there by honking, hissing, goose nazis and I’ve been bitter ever since. Had one of those hell beasts nipped Marjorie, I would have made peace and enjoyed a nice long chuckle. But NOBODY EFFS WITH LINDA. So now over at the Lodge where these bitches fly south to further torment me, I’m planning on making a batch of popcorn sprinkled with Alka Seltzer, thus creating a peppered trail of deception that leads straight to a pen of Durham-bred Pitbulls.
Particularly absurd water bird shananigans: