Monkey Business

I needed to get out of this place. I had no real plans and since this was the seventh anniversary of my moving here to the mid-west I thought that it was time to go check out the local zoo. I had always loved the zoo as a kid and I have heard nothing but great reviews about our local zoo. Why not?
I had forgotten that summer in the mid-west equaled humidity. I hadn’t even reached the ticket counter and I was already sweating like a fat man on a bike. I paid my Ten Dollar admission and made my way into the zoo. Two observations became obvious right from the start. The first was that these people toting their children around in the strollers and wagons need to learn some damn manners. I hadn’t been there ten minutes and got my foot ran over twice. The second observation was that the folks in the mid-west are big. Not big as in tall or muscular. Big corn feed folk. Even their young children were big. I felt out of place.
I grabbed my map and searched for the monkeys. They are the best part of the whole zoo experience and my favorite. I found the location and set out. I arrived to the first monkey exhibit, the ones that look like they have a ZZ Top beard. I was drench in my own sweat so I unscrewed the top off of my water and poured it on me. I must have caught the one monkey’s eye. It scurried over holding on to a branch but keeping perfect balance. I was face to face with the little guy, or girl and we were making faces at one another. A little kid tried to get in front of me and I bumped him to the side. Knowing the rules, I still managed to sneak in some nuts. I reached into my damp pocket looked around and fetched a few. I reached the nut in and the little human like monkey hand took it from me. The monkey chewed on the nut and gave me a scream of approval. The monkey then jumped down to the ground and I knelt and gave it another. This went on for a while. Me and the monkey were connecting. I would make a face and the monkey would mimic me. I would reward the monkey with another nut. From the corner of my eye I could see that off to my left were two incredible looking women checking me out, watching as I befriended the monkey. I began to look over at them, smiling and flirting. I looked back to the monkey. The monkey now was over in the grass, it’s back turned to me. I again looked over and the ladies were heading my way. I went to give the monkey the last nut. The monkey turned to face me, reached down and grabbed something and flung it my way. It hit my wet shirt and immediately I knew that the monkey had just flung its shit at me. The girls arrived and I stood as the monkey crap ran down my shirt. I didn’t get the reaction I had hoped for from the ladies and they turned and walked away.
I stood and watched them leave. I was sweaty, wet and stunk of monkey crap. I turned to look at the monkey and it was smiling. The monkey was literally smiling. I walked away and could hear the little bastard screaming away, laughing at me. I decided that it was too hot to continue. I headed back to my car and everyone that passed made a face at the monkey turd all over my shirt. So much for the zoo.

Late Arrival

I have received many emails telling me that I forgot the HNT this week. It is true. I apologize and post now in hopes that it will all be good. I have actually been dealing with a lot personally and to be honest, blogging has been the last thing on my mind. I actually went in to delete this blog three times, but couldn’t. Enjoy!

Don't try this at home!

With warmer weather upon us and my need to break out the sandals I couldn’t help notice that my feet were in a funk. Particularity the toe nails. The last thing I want to do is be out with my feet exposed to the world sporting yellow, hard, thick ass toenails. They looked as if the dermatophytes thingies from that comercial moved in and brought their friends and relatives. I went in search of and found the clippers. I opted for the large ones. You know, the kind that you can use as bolt cutters if need be. The ones that are way too big and heavy for your key chain, but would make a great fishing sinker. After a winter of neglect those were the only thing that could get the job done short of breaking out the Dremel tool.
I got comfortable in the chair and brought the foot in close so I could see exactly what I was doing. Now a days trying to get my foot up somewhat close to my face was like the notion that I could give myself fellatio. When we were kids we practically could shove our whole foot in our mouths. Now however I felt like a contortionist. I pulled and turned the handle of the clippers and the massive sharp jaws opened. This was not going to be a simple “Clip” and we were done job. This was going to take several strategic moves. I concentrated my efforts on the thickest part of the big discolored toenail and went in. I had to shimmy the lower clipper blade down under, beneath the nail. I mashed down on the lever and began to wonder which would give first. Both the nail and the clippers were straining under the force. I saw the nail begin to give and lift a bit. It reminded me of trying to lift the hood to my Uncle’s 1972 Cadillac as a kid. I watched my progress and the nail surrender to the mighty clippers. The jaws of the clippers finally closed together with a huge “SNAP”.
That is when it happened.
I screamed in agony and the clippers went hurdling, flying across the room. I stood and my knees buckled hitting the floor. The nail had won after all. I could hear the sound of the dermatophytes thingies laughing and taunting me. I held my hand there as if it were actually doing something, making it better. Tears streamed down my face. The thick wedge of discolored nail was now lodged somewhere in my eye socket. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t see. I could only hold the eyelid open for seconds before the pain instinctively made it close tight again. I would be blind. I thought of “Mary” from “Little House on the Prairie” and the episode where she lost her eyesight. I rushed to the sink and tried to flush the eye socket and get toenail particle loose and free. Nothing was working. I now had a bigger problem than funky feet.
They laughed away at my expense. Maybe they thought that I couldn’t hear them. Hell, even the doctor on call had a tough time of keeping a straight face. I exited through the automatic door, head held low, carrying a piece of toenail in a little plastic bag as a reminder, a souvenir. I wondered how sexy I looked in the eye patch?

Passing this on

I got this in a email and thought, why not –
Anybody happen to catch Nightline last night on ABC? In case youdidn’t, one of the hot topics discussed was MySpace. It is no secretto anyone who reads the newspaper or watches the 6 o’clock news thatMySpace has been in the limelight because of “sexual predators”trying to “abduct and corrupt” the youth of the world. To this I saybullshit! I see dozens of profiles a day showing 14 year old girlsdressed like sluts, wearing four inches of make up and 32 layers ofeyeliner, displaying their age as 18 years old and profile linesstating “Oh, I’m So Sexy” or “Hey There, Wanna Check Up On It?” Comethe fuck on! The youth of today’s world are already corrupt enoughdue to the undying need to be “older” than they really are. Iseriously doubt there are tons of people on MySpacestalking “innocent young girls” who just happen to have tramped upprofiles and ages 4 years greater than their own.
On Nightline, there was a story of a 12 year old girl who was a drug-addict and attributed it all to MySpace. She claims that MySPaceallowed her to easily fing drug dealers in her area, as well as oldermen to have sex with her. Now, at the age of 14, she has been checkedinto a drug-rehabilitation clinic and has been away from her familyfor 5 months. Her parents would rather place the blame squarely onthe shoulders of MySpace instead of their daughter, who even admittedthat at the age of 12, had already tried weed, crack, X, and hadslept with numerous guys older than herself…but of course, itwasn’t her fault, it was all because of MySpace.
Once again, COME THE FUCK ON! When are parents and children going tostop passing the blame and grow up enough to take responsibility fortheir actions and the actions of their children.. Parent;s, monitoryour children online, take some responsibility for YOUR children.Children, if a profile name sounds like something that comes out of acheap horror movie, like “DARK ANGEL OF DEATH WHO EATS THE BRAINS OFGIRLS”...chances are you DO NOT WANT TO ADD THEM AS A FRIEND.Apparently there is new legislation in Congress now to block MySpacein all public schools and public libraries across the United States.All because little girls want to act grown and don’t want to acceptthe consequences and parents don’t want to accept the fact thattheir “innocent little girls” are posing as 18 year old crack whorestrying to buy drugs.
Eventually, if this continues, MySpace could be totally outlawed fromthe Internet. Restrictions will be put in place in order to makeMySpace “safer”. I don’t know about you, but I use MySpace to keep intouch with my family and friends, use it for messages, and just tohave a space that is my own. Just because some children want to actgrown, does that mean I may have to eventually give up my MySpace? Ifyou feel the same way I do, please, repost this in your blogs orbulletins, or both as “STOP BLAMING MYSPACE”. If enough people postthis and spread the word, maybe people will get the picture and stopblaming MySpace for every little thing that their children do wrong.As user of MySpace, we should all repost this and take some sort ofaction. This is not a chain letter, and nothing will happen to you ifyou don’t repost this in 321654987 seconds. However, of all bulletinsyou will read today, I am sure that this one is the only one thatactually has a point to it. So please, have some common sense, andrepost this. Thanks

Missing you

I know that I haven’t posted in a few days. I haven’t forgotten about you all. Let’s see, in the past few days I have met my new neighbors, had phone sex with a fellow blogger, had to rush Ms. Pattie to the vet, bought a new vehicle, gotten really trashed and decided to leave apartment life and move into my Mom’s house. We have a lot of catching up to do.

BEST MAN

I posted this over at SOTF and had nothing for tonight, so I figured I would make it up with a twofer!
I was really suffering. It had been years since I had suffered from a hang over of such intensity. I was struggling to keep it together. I was finding it hard to maintain. In just over an hour I would be required to stand in the sun and eighty degree heat, smile and act like I was happy and gave a shit that my best friend was getting married. I could hear his voice saying “That is what the best man is for”. I was wheezy and feeling constrained and claustrophobic within the tuxedo. I needed a place to sit, a place to rest. The place was huge and had many, too many doors. The hallway began to spin and I reached for the door handle and entered.
She stood there with her maid of honor in a sultry white bra and panty set. Stockings draped her long legs and attached to the silk garter belt that hung perfect across her waist. The maid of honor began to approach me with a vicious look in her eyes. Chelsi must had known, seen that I was in trouble and stopped her in her tracks. I stumbled and clumsily sat quickly down upon a chest that was probably full of props or something of the sort. My eyes went in and out of focus as I stared at the dress almost standing there by itself across from Chelsi. “Are you alright”, I heard her say. I shook my head a few times to try and bring myself back to reality. I began to regain my focus and saw Chelsi whispering into the girl’s ear and I watched as she walked past me and exited the room. Chelsi followed and shut the door and bolted the lock. She came and sat next to me and I suddenly noticed how hot this woman was. She asked what was wrong and I explained my situation to her without spilling any details from the antics that went on at the Bachelor party a few hours prior. “You’re clammy” she said as she ran her hand over my face. Her touch was soft. It was exactly as I remembered. Yes, she once had an interest in me. Sure, I still felt I should be the one that she desired, the one that she loved. I had been an ass and in the meantime, Brain swooped in and stole her from under my nose. All of this time, the two of them together, the dinners, the dates and the “Circle of Friends, I had never once stopped wanting her. I think she knew it and maybe deep inside felt the same. We never got a fair shot. I could still remember our lips joining, tongues dancing over and around the other, that first kiss. I went weak in the knees. Yes I remember, yet I also remember how I selfishly threw it all away. Here I sat with the woman of my dreams, her about to get married and for the first time I was seeing her exposed, wearing enticing articles to please her new husband on their wedding night.

The letter "S"

I saw this over at le chat qui a peur’s place. Thought it was different from your ordinary “tag” so I played along.
This is how it works: Comment on this entry and I will give you a letter. Write ten words beginning with that letter in your journal, including an explanation of what the word means to you and why, and then pass out letters to those who want to play along.
Le Chat gave me the letter “S” (go figure) – easy enough right? Ok here I go…..
Sunshine – Ever since moving to the Midwest I find myself missing the sun. I hear arguments that “At least you get all four seasons” and Blah, Blah, Blah. I will take the sun over the four seasons any day. The feel of the warmth upon your skin is something that I miss. Even when the sun is out here in the Midwest it is either too cold to feel or enjoy it or too humid to want to try.
Stacy – She was the “first” and to this day the best chick that I have ever known. After about a month or two of dating she confronted me and asked if I was attracted to her. I assured her that I was and she then asked why we hadn’t “Done it” then. Believe it or not Mike was once a shy lad and I had to tell her that I had never “Done it”. I’ll never forget the look on her face or the way or ways she showed me how to “Do it” from there on out.
Sickness – I have recently been battling “sickness”. It is funny how one day everything is fine, you’re planning the weekend and stuff like that. In the next instance however everything changes and none of that matters anymore. I have made my peace with what it is I have to deal with and I am facing it head on. Everything is going well and I soon hope “sickness” will not be a word I think about daily.
Sister – Me and my sister used to be close. Real close. Now I rarely hear from her and when I do she is distant and will not let me in like before. She has pulled away from the family and content on not knowing what we all are doing.
Spontaneous – This one word could describe me. I hate planning. 99.9% of everything I do is out of spontaneity.
Selfish – As much as I deny it, this is how I often come across. I try to explain it away as I just do not give 100% of myself to anyone, but I know deep down inside that I enjoy the fact that I can hold some things in, all to myself. It is probably the main reason my relationships have always failed. I am not willing to change and I rarely compromise.
Spiritual – I have battled with right and wrong and the whole higher power theory all of my life. That is one thing that I never talk about. I have strong opinions of what is real or the truth and most people I meet are too closed minded to comprehend or even consider what I am saying or my theory might have something to it.
Sell out – Something I could never be. I am true to myself and the people I choose to let in. I do not follow the current trends or do I try to impress. Not my Style.
Stones – Probably the best Rock and Roll band man has ever seen. They are in the final leg of their journey, but I was raised on them and have been listening to them for as long as I can remember. I have seen them now live thirty four times. The first time I saw them live was at age eight.
Sex – My passion. I often think that I have a problem. To date I have never met anyone with such a passion and drive for sex as I. Most guys, they say think about sex every thirty seconds. For me it is more, it is a constant thought and everything I do and say revolves around sex. People always try and down play it when I tell them this, when I try and explain. But the one’s that see first hand are in awe and often frightened of just how true it is. Not love, not emotions, not relationship, just sex.
Wow, that was deep. Come and get your letters

Don't ask don't tell...

I went home this afternoon at lunchtime to a package propped up against my door. A good sized one at that. I wondered what I had ordered, but didn’t dwell on it for long. I am constantly ordering crap online and from the television. The “But Wait, there is more” gets me every time. It is not unusual for a package to show up unexpectedly. I grabbed the package in my recently gimped arms and fumbled with the lock and went inside. Like a kid at Christmas, I went at the package with the closest thing available, my keys. It took me just as much time if not more using the keys as it would have if I’d went and gotten a pair of scissors or a knife. After some creative maneuvering and cursing the package was opened and I dove into the massive sea of packing peanuts and started pulling out the contents. With each item I pulled from the medium sized box, it was becoming very clear that I did not order any of this. The package contained several “Adult Toys” and other erotica. I won’t go into details, but it was geared towards a certain “Lifestyle” or “Fetish”. One could make a claim it was a combination of the two. I carefully inspected the items, which were package from the online store where they were purchased. For a second I wondered if maybe I had ordered them in some drunken haze, then concluded that there was no way these were mine. I went through the remains of the package and packing material to find the label. I found it and immediately realized what had occurred.
A couple of weeks back two girls moved in next door. I have them pegged as Lesbians, but in my mind any decent looking female is pretty much a drink away from hot lesbian action. Ever since they moved in I have wondered. I have not seen any guys coming and going, but hey, I could be wrong. From the contents of the package however, they were not only carpet munchers, they were into the freaky and kinky side of life. To each their own I say. Then it hit me. “Oh shit”, I thought. How am I going to explain this? “Why did you open the package”, I could hear them say. I pictured myself there in front of their door for the first time, “Hi, I am Mike from next door. I think this belongs to you”. Not good Mike, not good at all. I thought about getting out the tape and trying to re-assemble the package as if it were never opened. Even if I were that good, the label was in half. I would never get away with it.
So my dilemma is by now, obvious. The thought of the two freaky girls next door is, well, “A pleasant one”. How are they going to react? Should I just leave it open at their door? No, then more people would see their “private, freaky, you’re going to hell” items. That is not good. Should I knock and tell them of how terribly sorry and embarrassed I am (then hope they invite me in for????).

Betrayal

knew that it was wrong, yet I dialed the number anyway. It was her. Her voice sent shivers over my body. I told her that I would be there, and I hung up the phone. I had thought about her since the first time I had set eyes upon her. She had that natural, real beauty and her personality made her that much more desirable. I knew that what I was doing would be irreversible and have repercussions.

I entered and she greeted me. My heart thumped and my feet felt weak from her smile. I was like a child and fumbled with my words as we spoke. Just being in her presence made me feel warm inside. As wrong as this was, I knew it was so right. “We shouldn’t be sneaking around like this” I said. She smiled and said it wasn’t really a big deal. “We all make choices and have the right to change our minds”. Her words were correct. Yet I still felt guilty.

I had been loyal to Christina. For six long years she was the one. We laughed, talked and shared the other’s inner most personal secrets. I trusted her completely. Yet, here I was betraying her with another. One that was younger, prettier and one I desired so.

Her skin felt great upon my own. I breathed in deep hoping her scent would be forever imbedded in me. She smelled so nice. So Fresh. Her youth shined through her eyes and her smile calmed me. Yes, I was a man hooked. A man who gave up one for another. I am after all, only human. I am weak. She ran her fingers through my hair and I melted there before her. Each word entered my consciousness and was filtered a thousand different ways. I wanted her and she was fully aware. She knew. How could she not? Could she, would she keep our secret? I asked her and she giggled. “What ever you want” was her reply. “I think that it would be better to get it out in the open though”. Maybe she was right. They would see one another often and our rendezvous would become harder to keep secret. “Is that good” she asked? I wanted to get upon a knee and propose to her right then and there. “That is perfect”, I told her.

For the past six years I have never let anyone cut my hair besides Christina. There is a new girl in town and not only does she cut well, she is beautiful and I will have her. Yes, it is betrayal!

Cell Phone Safety

Does anyone remember life before cell phones? Does anyone recall departing a plane and seeing a rush of people running for the phone booths? Does anyone remember what it was like to roam the earth freely with out having a vibration in your pocket, or having to listen to everyone else’s witty personal gay little ringer choices? Really, how important must one be to not even be able to drive down the street without having to hold a conversation? Why is it that nine out of ten children have a cell phone with them in class? Isn’t everyone they know there with them?

To the soccer mom in the minivan who obviously perceived her call more important then the big fucking red stop sign and proceeded to enter the intersection at full speed, which caused me to swerve, hit the car on my right and plow into the street light, I would like to apologize for not recognizing you as a “Very Important Person”. We are fine by the way, not that you stopped or even noticed you almost killed us, but then again, your call was important. My black eyes will return to normal, the stitches will come out of my body at some point and I am sure that my ribs will heal. Hopefully my insurance people will understand your importance and pay off my vehicle. Hopefully they will understand and take care of the ambulance ride and my stint in the ER. Lastly, I would like to apologize for the unsympathetic police officer that interrupted your call and placed you under arrest.

Rock Concert-Early HNT

Since last week we had some technical difficulties, I am going to re-post last week’s submission for those who missed it. I am once again posting early due to the fact I am going to see “Kid Rock” in a few hours and do not expect to be home or in any shape to post it otherwise. Enjoy

So a fellow blogger and I were talking and discussing money, having it, not having it and BLAH fucking BLAH. She made a point of reference of how much I must spend on clothing and I was taken aback. “Me” I thought? Now when it comes to clothing I am an “In and Out” kinda guy. I could care less what is or is not in style, I don’t follow trends and I just go along and pick out shit that I think may look good and fit. You can imagine her saying this had me thinking weather or not maybe I was giving the wrong impression. Then she followed it up by making mention of my twenty dollar underwear. It was all becoming clear now!

I tried to explain to her as I am trying to convey now to you that when it comes to jeans, I don’t care. When it comes to shirts, I care less. Shoes? Whatever. But when I am choosing the fabric that will cradle “Jimmy and the twins”, supporting me throughout the day and keep me dry, I go for the best. I mean, why the hell would I wear a pair of drawers made in Vietnam or some god forsaken place like that? The thought of some diseased, minor, immigrant worker’s worries and contact DNA against my sack disturbs me. “Hello”??? They call them the “Jewels” for a reason. I am not going to run around in some dollar fifty pair of butt huggers that have “Ball Funk” written all over them. I’d rather take my chances sporting the “Cowboy Style”, getting chafed and rubbed raw than risk the chance of foreign particles absorbing my testies and contracting some sort of bird flu pandemic, testicular malfunction, third world country ball cheese. I hope that there are others that can relate. Am I the only one? I mean women have that little paper crotch strip when they buy “Up in and personal” wear. Guys don’t. So the protection and prevention of all that is male is on the line when making under garment purchases.

Dirty Old Man

driving down the road and I see the sign. “Support the High School – Car Wash” or something like that. I found this sign a bit annoying due to the fact that I pay outta my ass in school taxes, yet have no kids to benefit from it. However, since the coming of spring and my unresolved dispute with the bird community my vehicle is always in need of a wash these days, so I figured that I would swing in and check it out and maybe get the scoop on these kids that I am supporting. I knew immediately as I pulled into the parking lot, over to the designated washing area that I must have read the sign wrong. I was pleasantly surprised. This was not just a support the local HS function, but a support the local HS cheerleader event. I know that I tend to take certain liberties in my posts, but I shit you not I was greeted by at least a dozen high school age female alumni in their bathing suits. I am not talking the one piece “cover that shit up” suit either. I am talking about the full on “I got a hot body” two piece bikini. I rolled the window down and the hyperactive perky girl greeted me and gave me some scripted, rehearsed BS about how they needed to raise money for the squad to BLAH. BLAH, BLAH. I must admit I felt a little perverted staring at this youngster’s breasts tucked away within the skimpy fabric, but only for a moment. I handed the girl a twenty and rolled up the window. My vehicle was then assaulted by the cheerleader brigade. Five or six wet little pom pom girls went to town. One literally got up on the hood of my truck, bent forward giving me the cleavage shot like the chick in the Whitesnake video. I literally was sitting there in awe as these little women took to shining my ride. I was really starting to feel perverted as chub started growing within my pants. “This isn’t right” I thought as I got a full on Camel Toe shot as the one girl held the hose between her legs as if, well, she was peeing. My pulse was racing and I was questioning my morality when I glanced over and saw them. Over to the left sitting like beached whales in their fold up soccer mom chairs, were the parents, or at least adults of these children here half naked and wet. I looked to my right and noticed the three other cars were occupied by male patrons, looking just as perverted as I probably did. “This was wrong”. “These girls are being exploited” I thought. But as the hot little blonde dried the last drop from my window, I rolled it down, handed her another twenty and asked that they wash it again. I am going to hell.
In other news, I am slowly but surely getting sucked into the whole “MySpace” craze. I am however going kicking and screaming. If anyone else is having the same urge, drop by and say hello.

It wasn't me

It amazes me that the body and mind can be subject to insane amounts of alcohol and still somewhat function. I am not sure what is worse, waking up and feeling like a dried up dog turd, or having to hear all about the details of the aforementioned insane amounts of alcohol.
This weekend yours truly decided to get back to his roots and celebrate all that is Cinco de Mayo. Growing up in the predominately Hispanic population of Southern California, Cinco de Mayo was always a huge deal. It wasn’t just a day of celebration. It usually consisted of taking vacation and preparing for a wild few days of drinking, dancing and drunkenness. Mike set out this weekend to try and relive some of that. All names have been withheld or changed to protect the guilty:
I left work early Friday afternoon, went home and found my loudest, brightest Hawaiian shirt. It seemed a suitable garment for me to express my eagerness to tell the world, “Happy Cinco de Mayo”. I remember the huge festival tent set up Downtown. The event was sponsored by “Corona” an excellent beverage. I remember hitting on the “Corona Girls”, meeting them later at a country bar (I have no clue) and I remember them challenging me to ride the mechanical bull. I am told that Tequila played a huge part in the celebration and I recall bits and pieces of the Tequila shooting. Anyone that knows me knows that at all cost, Mike is to refrain from Tequila. I remember the sun coming out, fish tacos and the night arriving once again. I recall the smell of the piedmont mulch as I knelt behind the bushes and hurled. I remember not being let into a club because I had only one shoe.

What I do not recall nor take any responsibility for is getting up doing Elvis Karaoke, almost getting killed on the mechanical bull, throwing up on the hot Corona girl and her friends, loosing a shoe, cussing out a taxi driver, all of the stains on my shirt, doing the hokie pokie, making out with the hot Corona girl after apologizing for puking on her, how many Tequila shot I had, letting female patrons of the “Dirty Bird” (A local club) lick alcohol off of my body, plugging up a “Burger King” toilet, going to Burger King, ending up at Matt’s house on the futon with the hot Corona girl, pissing in Matt’s sink, and getting home.

In any case, I am back and alive and ready to kick some blogging ass! I have made changes to the blog, mostly for security. I hope everyone had a Happy Cinco de Mayo! If anyone has a hangover remedy, please let me know.

CLOSED

After much consideration and recent events I have come to the conclusion that “ Not Touching You” has ran its course. I may decide that I was wrong will be re-vamped and re-structured! it in the future, but for now it is closed for business. I have had hours of entertainment, fun, laughs and met some really cool people. Maybe we will bump into one another in the future along the way! In any case, you have all been wonderful.
Thank You and Good Bye.

Fowl Play

I have had it. I give up. I am not sure if it has to do with the coming of spring, global warming or if maybe I pissed someone off in a previous life, but for the past few weeks I have, or my vehicle rather has been bombarded by bird poop. I can park in a lot with fifty other vehicles and come out to hundreds of little birdie butt dumplings all over the hood and sides of my truck, yet no other vehicle is touched. I can not take it any longer. It is time to fight back. I thought about buying one of those plastic owls to mount on the hood of my truck, or maybe one of those bird noise maker things.
I am not paranoid. I am not imaging things. Yesterday I went and got all of the birdie butt paste washed off. I pulled into my parking lot and went inside. I watched and waited by the window. Not a bird in the sky. This morning I go out and it looked like my truck had freckles! I am not talking the random occasional spot either. I am talking about the massive, runny, just had some fries in the parking lot of McDonald type of crap.
I am not sure what I have done to these little fuckers, but there is defiantly a conspiracy out there. Some bird leader has a personal vendetta against my vehicle and me. I will not stand for this! Today after lunch they went too far. I am outside minding my own business, talking to a few co-workers and out of no where I hear and feel a SPLAT upon my head. Yes, some spineless coward of a bird had the nerve to shit on me. They have crossed the line. “Bird Season” is officially open