Pretty Bird.

i drilled two holes in my parrot's beak a few weeks ago to shut him up. held Chirpy Boy down and power drilled those holes right in.

but it didn't shut him up (quite the opposite in fact).

i figured he'd be rendered silent on account of lack of air pressure or some such other miracle of modern birdery. that was not the case (though i'd be the first to admit that my foggy reasoning was inspired, largely, by the former liquid tenants of all of these empty cans).

so the beak holes didn't work at first.

but then, after a couple of days, infection (mother nature's enduring back-up plan) set in and shut up ol' Chirpy Boy for good.

whoever decided that a teaching an animal with a brain the size of a cocktail onion to talk was a good idea hadn't ever spent more than five minutes next to one of the the shrill motherfuckers while it rambles incessantly about an unending proclivity towards crackers.

i should have killed the bastard at the pet store too. here all i really wanted was a quiet goldfish under whose rocks i could hide any number of things including (but not limited to) stolen eastern bloc diamonds, a skate key and a tiny waterproof envelope with my super secret ideas for new dried foods.

but this sick petstore employee fucker railroads me into buying a high maintenance bullhorn that says "Pretty Bird" over and over again like a broken record. you'd think they'd at least teach the fucking thing a joke or something... but no, I get the bird who constantly begs for crackers and boasts about itself.

Chirpy Boy really was *DELICIOUS* and well worth every cent I paid for him. looking back, he was like a mouth-watering best friend.