My husband hails from the land of kangaroos and Vegemite, and his favorite sports team is known as the Magpies. When he first told me that, I experienced mixed emotions. Should I be rude and laugh at the lameness of having a songbird as your mascot, or should I feel pity at the cruel hand that was dealt to this loyal fan? Always sensitive and tactful, I laughed. Hard.
Anyway, I have since learned that there is a tremendous difference between the American version of the magpie and the Antipodean variety. American magpies are cute little happy birds that hop around merrily on their little birdy legs and sing songs all day. Australian magpies are big, aggressive, territorial fuckers that will try to claw your eyes out if they decide they don't like the outfit you're wearing. You can imagine the relief I felt once I was firmly planted back on American soil, knowing that the threat of avian assault was gone. Birds here are far too polite to engage in such abusive shenanigans. God Bless America.
Fast forward to a couple Fridays ago, when I was beating it out of the office building like my ass was on fire. As I passed some large shrubbery I heard some high-pitched squealing. I decided to investigate. I couldn't tell you why I decided to do this, but the smart money is on the fact that I am an idiot. As I stuck my head inside the shrub in an attempt to locate the source of the squeaking noises, I heard some loud squawking behind me. Startled, I turned around and was greeted with the pointed beak of some polite American bird. It flew into the side of my face and beat me about the shoulder with its spastically flapping wings. Always the epitome of composure, I dropped my purse on the sidewalk, flailed my arms around in the air like I just didn't care, and started screaming about how the "fuckers are trying to kill me." After a few seconds of trying to beat the little sparrow into submission, I knew I was whipped so I admitted defeat and started running -- still screaming, of course -- to my car. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to grab my purse and its spilled contents off the sidewalk, because I'm pretty sure the high degree of hilarity would have been lessened had I not had my purse to swing around in the air while I stumbled crying down the sidewalk. I would have hated for the numerous patrons of the adjoining restaurant, sitting outside enjoying the warm weather and various adult beverages, not to have had the most entertaining experience possible. You're welcome, restaurant patrons. I strive to provide as much enjoyment as possible. But consider yourselves lucky that it was a sparrow I tangled with. If it had been an Australian magpie you would have had to look at a bloody pulp over your appetizers, and that can really bring a person down.
Anyway, I have since learned that there is a tremendous difference between the American version of the magpie and the Antipodean variety. American magpies are cute little happy birds that hop around merrily on their little birdy legs and sing songs all day. Australian magpies are big, aggressive, territorial fuckers that will try to claw your eyes out if they decide they don't like the outfit you're wearing. You can imagine the relief I felt once I was firmly planted back on American soil, knowing that the threat of avian assault was gone. Birds here are far too polite to engage in such abusive shenanigans. God Bless America.
Fast forward to a couple Fridays ago, when I was beating it out of the office building like my ass was on fire. As I passed some large shrubbery I heard some high-pitched squealing. I decided to investigate. I couldn't tell you why I decided to do this, but the smart money is on the fact that I am an idiot. As I stuck my head inside the shrub in an attempt to locate the source of the squeaking noises, I heard some loud squawking behind me. Startled, I turned around and was greeted with the pointed beak of some polite American bird. It flew into the side of my face and beat me about the shoulder with its spastically flapping wings. Always the epitome of composure, I dropped my purse on the sidewalk, flailed my arms around in the air like I just didn't care, and started screaming about how the "fuckers are trying to kill me." After a few seconds of trying to beat the little sparrow into submission, I knew I was whipped so I admitted defeat and started running -- still screaming, of course -- to my car. Fortunately I had the presence of mind to grab my purse and its spilled contents off the sidewalk, because I'm pretty sure the high degree of hilarity would have been lessened had I not had my purse to swing around in the air while I stumbled crying down the sidewalk. I would have hated for the numerous patrons of the adjoining restaurant, sitting outside enjoying the warm weather and various adult beverages, not to have had the most entertaining experience possible. You're welcome, restaurant patrons. I strive to provide as much enjoyment as possible. But consider yourselves lucky that it was a sparrow I tangled with. If it had been an Australian magpie you would have had to look at a bloody pulp over your appetizers, and that can really bring a person down.
1 Comments:
This is very interesting site...
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