Actually, it IS Rocket Science

Sunday Comics (pt. 8) (Plus Surprise Ending!)

(*Careful- this post contains details of animal poop- you’ve been warned*)

Oh man, you guys.  You know how I know it’s going to be a good day?  When in the process of scanning my cartoon for Sunday comics at the local print-store-which-shall-not-be-identified, I came across someone who will likely spawn or be a part of another blog entry on the subject of why I’m glad I don’t huff glue.

We’ll just hold onto that for another time, though.

The following is not as much a comic as much as it is a situation that occurred during my trip to Hawaii.  We were lucky enough (on top of everything else during our stay) to have a room with a balcony, and every morning we’d go out there and enjoy the morning.  Until my mom and I made probably the biggest mistake of our lives while we were there, as it became something the locals preyed on after a while.  But not the locals you would expect.

You know what?  I’ll just show you and explain later.

Feed the birds... Tuppence a' Hitchcock-worthy scenario

You know what’s scarier than a ravenous bird?? A FLOCK of ravenous birds. … With NO regard for table etiquette.  We sat there helpless as these assholes got close enough to clean out the sleepies from our eyes.  But they made sure to repay us.

With little poops.

Little, teeny, tiny, soggy poops.

Has anyone here owned a bird as a pet before?  Anybody??  Don’t worry, you’re in a safe place for disclosure.  I’ll go first.  I, myself, owned a bird once.  His name was Topper.  He was a grey cockatiel.

And he POOPED. … …He pooped EVERYWHERE.

Sweet guy, really, but try to bring any friend to a party who had a tendency to POOP EVERYWHERE and not apologize for it.

Try explaining to your mom why paint’s peeling off the walls in your room because you didn’t notice sooner that the bird had taken a shit on the wall trim.

Honestly, I was too young to own a bird with such high requirements that exceeded even poop coverage, but I did learn a valuable lesson about birds from it.  Namely that birds don’t have anal sphincters.

I’ll just go ahead and repeat that because it bears repeating:

Birds. Don’t. Possess. Anal. Sphincters.

Meaning that little squirts of green and white plops would just splay out willy nilly, and the only chance you had of catching it was that special time when his feet suddenly got really warm (a key sign of optimal poopage to come) and make your way to the nearest newspaper (or magazine you were prepared to throw away already) and pray the fellow didn’t perchance fly within the next 10 seconds.


Anyway, the Hawaiian balcony, yes?

We dealt with the birdmob until we were out of the tasty english muffin on my mom’s plate.  All we were left with was a disproportionate ratio of birds to humans and the burnt remnants that had fallen off of my mom’s breakfast crumpet. Oh, and bird poops.  Lots and lots of bird poops.

You know how in War of The Worlds when they accidently discover that magical yet banal device to ward off their enemies? (What, you think I’m gonna spoil an H.G. Wells masterpiece for anyone by telling you what it actually was?) I had my own epiphany that morning to ignite the mass exodus of those assholes.

At my wits end, I chose to offer them the last few bits of english muffin, even though they were just burnt edges at that point, mostly.  As I offered the blackened iota to the nearest winged flight of fancy, he ventured close enough to eat it but stopped halfway, noting that it wasn’t the buttery, warm, white flakey crust that he was used to, and he flew off.


And within the next 3 minutes, so did the rest of his cohort, after one by one inspecting my final offering and unpolitely declining.  Finicky turdlettes.

Which proved to me this wasn’t a case of us feeding the poor, or doing any charitable work on our parts, whatsoever, since these crapmongers apparently had the palette that could discern between perfectly toasted and charred.  No.  This was a case of another species pilfering our hopes and dreams of bettering the world and shitting on them.



Oh wait, I told you there’d be a surprise ending, yeah??

Saw this the other day and couldn’t stop laughing.  Only because I still make “PEW-PEW” noises whenever I’m flicking any hair, crumb, whatever, off the edge of my fingertip.  That and hearing a guy go into falsetto never fails at making me smile (And the dub is so much better than the piece-of-absolute-shite-you-expected-us-to-accept-as-good original ever was, MR. LUCAS):


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