I’ve never really liked birds. In my own eyes, they are the rats of the sky. Maybe this is because of my childhood trauma of being pecked on the rear by a rabid turkey at Muscoot Farm. I like to think of birds as nature’s bothersome alarm clock, the reason car washes stay in business, these feathered spreaders of awful disease. Actually, there’s only one thing worse than a bird, a parrot.
Popeye was rescued from a pet store, after noticing that two giant parrots had Popeye as their prison-bitch, a genius a Lift Trucks decided to save the little guy, from the constant attacks of the two macaws. Those two birds ended up having the right idea.
Popeye is by far the worst thing to ever happen to Lift Trucks, he never shuts up. Sometimes in the morning I’ll try to give him a piece of a toasted muffin or a nice scone, to express his gratitude, he bits me. Often times, I’ll find myself cleaning inside and out of his cage, then he bites me. The only person he won’t bite is one of the artists.
Popeye is also incredibly picky, if you try and put on something like The Clash or The Talking Heads he’ll squack to no end. The only times where he’s actually content enough to be quiet is when he gets to listen to the smooth jazz station on WFUV and nibble on Cheetos or a piece of a tortilla.
Pros of bird ownership:
- They’re apparently pretty or something.
- You can teach them how to mock people.
- Great for insomniacs.
- They give you an excuse to clean entire rooms covered in feathers and seed shells.
Cons of bird ownership:
- They never shut up
- They never shut up
- They bite you, for no reason at all
- You can’t listen to the kinds of music that you want to, unless you want it to be remixed by the equivelance of an electric saxaphone fueled by hellium and a frustrated todler.
The only way to actually deal with Popeye is to spray him right in the face with a water bottle (If you can find one) and he’ll usually quiet down. Sometimes he’s kind of funny, he’ll mimick you while you’re talking, with mumbled squacks, sometimes he flaps his little wings around an rythmically squark, which is kind of entertaining for a few seconds or so. Actually, I have somewhat of a love/ hate relationship with Popeye, sometimes he’s alright, but most of the time, he bites. I hate him.
A rant by Scott Everett
