Do you like it when somebody steals your fries? No? Neither do I, especially when it's a dirty, disease-riddled bird.
I was having lunch on the Den patio recently when a chickadee flew up and took a french fry out of my hand. Not from the table, not from the plate, but from my hand.
That's crap. These birds no longer have any respect for their human masters. The dirty flying rat didn't ask for the fry, he just flew up and took it. I should have swatted him to the ground when I had the chance but the vermin took me by surprise.
I don't appreciate looking like a fool so I tried to laugh off the whole debacle. I praised the daunting ingenuity of the little bastard, but while I may have been laughing on the outside, I was not laughing on the inside.
That fry represented my superiority. By taking the fry, the flying rat humiliated me like the Germans humiliated the French in the Franco-Prussian War, World War I and World War II. French fry indeed.
So where does this leave me? There's no guarantee I'll ever see that chickadee again. He's probably bragging to his wretched little bastard friends, floating around with my fry, flapping his rancid little wings.
But I have a plan. I will solve it the Middle-Eastern way. I can kill 15 other birds to get to this one. I will do it in the middle of the night by attacking the tree where the dirty vermin sleep.
Or I can bomb the whole colony of birds in hope that they leave my patio all together. This however, is not easy because the birds have already started settling there and the United States is supplying the birds with moral support and bird feed.
This cycle of violence should end, but I'm not giving up. That dirty little rat almost took a chicken wing today.