The constant bird
There once was a constant bird who was known near and far for his unwavering commitment to the dull routines of life. His other bird friends would fly and frolic and frivol about in the forests, engaged in morning games or afternoon work or seasonable activities. They would urge him to be up with the early bird, to hark like the lark, to soar about the sky like an eagle, to fall in love with a dove, and even to ostentatiously strut about like the cock-of-the-walk (the cock-of-the-walk in fact held regular strutting lessons for the other birds willing to pay a small fee). In winter, migratory birds would urge him to fly south; in spring, the spring chickens would encourage him to come out and enjoy the spring; and in summer, other migratory birds would urge him to fly north. But no: this constant bird just wanted to stay inside and watch TV.
If truth were told, this bird did not have a very exciting life. He had tried internet dating for a while, but couldn't get on with the other birds. They all wanted to fly high or sing sweetly or catch insects in the tree or swim about on the pond or hold wingtip-to-wingtip and gaze endlessly into one another's eyes while making peculiar honking noises. They weren't really interested in sitting at home and watching TV, and consequently, the constant bird wasn't really interested in them. He was as unmoved by the pleas of his mother to find a nice girl and make a nest and raise a family of eggs as he was by ominous documentaries he sometimes saw on the nature channel about survival of the fittest.
One day, men came to the forest and bulldozed the land, and chopped down the trees, and drained the pond that the ducks swam in. All the larks and chats and ducks and twits and penguins and geese and pigeons had to move out and go on to welfare. The constant bird, however, was staying in his house as he usually did and watching another episode of Star Trek: Enterprise. He therefore did not hear about this great natural disaster until days afterwards. He caught a report on the news channel.
MORAL: The early bird catches the worm. The late bird catches the next episode of Oprah.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
- John Bangsund's Threepenny Planet
- Broken Biro
- Poetry 24
- Superlative scribbles
- Kirstyn McD!
- Rorrim a tsomla almost a mirror
- More Sterne
- Sterne
- Cam the man from the Dan.
- Too hot to Raaaaaaandallllllll!
- Erin's Excellently Everlasting Effervescements!
- Slammy Infamy
- Hail Paco!
- Baron Blandwagon, purveyor of cyberbunnies, hawker of Roger Corman, and Misruler of the Multiverse
- The Bolta. Aiyeeeeee!!!!!
- Bad Apple Audrey
- The cartoon church
- Sir Martinkus
- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
- A hodge podge of hotzeplotz
- THE SLAMMA!
- Jottlesby's nottings, or should that be Nottlesby's jottings?
- The Snarking of the Hunt
- Jazzy Hands
- David of Metal City
- David the Barista
- The Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony
- Be an Opinion Dominion Minion!
- Mel...
- ... and Fel
- His brilliant career - from whale sushi to crumbed prawn
- Jo Blogs
- Yet another Tim
- Croucherisms...
- Was two peas, now three peas
- Desciopolous!
- ... Still Life - now with extra rotating cats!
- Erin...
- An Amazingly Awesome Australian Ampersand!
- Blink and you'll miss 'er
- Red in the land of the tigers!
- Wire of Vibe
- Chase him, ladies, he's in the cavalry!
- The Non-palindromical Editrix in Germanium
- Old Sterne
- Gempiricalisations
- TonyT
- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
- The Purple Blog
- Blairville, lair of all that is wicked and perfidious
- The enticingly acronymical CSH
- EXTREEEEEEEME WYNTER!
- Mark of California
- Jellyfish
- Silent Speaking
- Lexicon the Mexican
Blog Archive
-
▼
2008
(316)
-
▼
September
(28)
- On sounding like a pompous git, #451: letters to t...
- Duck Cat Dog Friday
- Muslim cemetery decreases quality of life for dead...
- Etiquette quiz
- Biographica critica
- On poetry by journalists
- A poem about the curly clouds outside my work window
- Quadruple entendre
- A horrifying confession
- Foot-in-the-door-in-the-foot journalism
- Confusing confusion, and passwords
- Ad Homonym!
- Buddy, you got any faith to spare?
- The live dog and the dead lion
- It's a party at my house and no-one's invited
- Bloody hell
- Yet another further further fable for our time
- I also liked their plastic icecream desserts
- Sweeping generalisation
- On the eve of ultimate destruction, I have a sligh...
- Disaster strikes in the wrong place!
- Important things to note on a Saturday morning
- Gentlemen, cognite your engines...
- Guess the headline!
- Stuff sold on ebay
- Short short story
- Pay attention, drones
- It's a coffee cup catchphrase masquerading as a bl...
-
▼
September
(28)
8 comments:
I admire your self restraint in not using 'chick' in this sentence 'He was as unmoved by the pleas of his mother to find a nice girl...'
Happy Bird-day!
happy birthday greetings from meself! Constant happiness your way!
Happy birthday, Tim.
Buying you a beer in spirit.
Thanks folks. I plan to celebrate my birthday in the usual way, by banging out a succession of transcripts into my computer here for 7 and a half hours and then catch a train home. Which is to say, I'll be at work.
Cake, however, may be involved.
I admire your self restraint in not using 'chick' in this sentence 'He was as unmoved by the pleas of his mother to find a nice girl...'
Hmmm, good point Nails. Come to think of it I didn't write 'he just didn't feel clucky', either, though I totally would if I'd thought of it.
Alternative moral for this story: The early bird catches the worm, and, if the geo-climatic, and biological conditions are right, a killer case of avian flu.
This is a true story (I know this because it happened to me): girl walks down the street, bird flies into the side of her head (wings freakin' hurt), bird flies on, girl gets very, very confused and contemplates going home and hiding under the covers.
I didn't get avian flu. There was a part of me that was disappointed.
Post a Comment