Shit Day
I was sitting on the porch a few minutes ago, and something fell on my head.
I should back up. This morning, I woke up first when they started digging a pit in the street about 50 yards from my house, and second when Stefanie, who felt crappy, came to lay down and feel crappy with me. The third time, I got up, put on my boots and smoked my penultimate cigarette as I walked past the traffic snarls and jackhammers to class. Campus was full of wandering and inpenetrable crows who had shown up for the immigration rally and made it impossible to get anywhere. There were also a great many itchy-looking pigs in attendance. I got to class just in time to sit next to Chubby Dude Who Keeps Looking At Me, and discover that we were all preparing to pack up and go watch the rally. I smoked my last cigarette while I wandered around and looked at stuff in a less swine-infested area until my next class, at which point something horrible and sharp lodged in my left eye and refused to leave for the several minutes of agonized and half-blind weaving through the swarms of people leaving class in Burdine until I reached the bathroom, where it simply vanished without my further intervention, presumably to taunt me. During the lecture, which was about the Cold War and also depressing, I commited several pen and ink-related atrocities in my sketchbook, of which I am not proud and will speak no further.
I got home just as some guy with a green van instigated a game of musical cars, and I have nothing to smoke. Eventually the dumptruck fun subsided adequately for me to go purchase some cigarettes (another small ordeal in its own right). I take a break at this point to smoke some of them, and talk to Stefanie. I declare the day shitty, and resolve to approach it as such henceforth, hopefully to the better. The dumptrucks return, so we go out to watch. It was after they left, as I was smoking my cigarette, when something landed on my head.
It could have been anything; a leaf, a twig, a clump of godawful pollen. For some reason, though, I knew it was bird shit. And I was right. Stefanie laughed. I took the last two drags off my cigarette and then a shower.
I find myself wondering. If I'd known it was, for example, a funky green catepillar, would I have been right? And if I hadn't already informed the day of my stance on its conduct towards me, would I have been more inclined to have picked something other than shit?
In other words, did I bring this upon myself directly, or did I just ask for it?
I should back up. This morning, I woke up first when they started digging a pit in the street about 50 yards from my house, and second when Stefanie, who felt crappy, came to lay down and feel crappy with me. The third time, I got up, put on my boots and smoked my penultimate cigarette as I walked past the traffic snarls and jackhammers to class. Campus was full of wandering and inpenetrable crows who had shown up for the immigration rally and made it impossible to get anywhere. There were also a great many itchy-looking pigs in attendance. I got to class just in time to sit next to Chubby Dude Who Keeps Looking At Me, and discover that we were all preparing to pack up and go watch the rally. I smoked my last cigarette while I wandered around and looked at stuff in a less swine-infested area until my next class, at which point something horrible and sharp lodged in my left eye and refused to leave for the several minutes of agonized and half-blind weaving through the swarms of people leaving class in Burdine until I reached the bathroom, where it simply vanished without my further intervention, presumably to taunt me. During the lecture, which was about the Cold War and also depressing, I commited several pen and ink-related atrocities in my sketchbook, of which I am not proud and will speak no further.
I got home just as some guy with a green van instigated a game of musical cars, and I have nothing to smoke. Eventually the dumptruck fun subsided adequately for me to go purchase some cigarettes (another small ordeal in its own right). I take a break at this point to smoke some of them, and talk to Stefanie. I declare the day shitty, and resolve to approach it as such henceforth, hopefully to the better. The dumptrucks return, so we go out to watch. It was after they left, as I was smoking my cigarette, when something landed on my head.
It could have been anything; a leaf, a twig, a clump of godawful pollen. For some reason, though, I knew it was bird shit. And I was right. Stefanie laughed. I took the last two drags off my cigarette and then a shower.
I find myself wondering. If I'd known it was, for example, a funky green catepillar, would I have been right? And if I hadn't already informed the day of my stance on its conduct towards me, would I have been more inclined to have picked something other than shit?
In other words, did I bring this upon myself directly, or did I just ask for it?
posted by the autophobe at 4:20 PM
1 Comments:
I think the bird brought it on you directly much more so that you yourself did, if you ask me. which you didn't, but i offer my opinion anyway. it should probably die. or at least eat less... or just shit elsewhere, like any other decent bird.
hey, on the upside, your feed totally works ;P
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