The Shitbird
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Prelude: An Admonition to the Moderators.
This is a story of a curse. Of a rage and hatred to equal that of Achilles on the fields of Troy. And, as Briseus was to Achilles, so is the placement of this thread in this forum to me. Leave this thread in the Pit, where it belongs or suffer the curse of He-whose-thread-must-not-be-moved.
Despite, my genteel language in describing the following events, my rage is large. It is only with the greatest degree of self-control, that I describe the following in mild language. Think of it as the calm whisper of a madman before he explodes.
****
Perhaps you've heard of the Shitbird. If so, it has probably come up in the context of Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, Unicorns, Aliens, or threesomes with college girls. Everybody knows somebody who claims they've seen bigfoot, or had a threesome, but in the way of urban myths, nobody will actually claim that they, personally, have firsthand knowledge. So, let's get this out of the way:
The Shitbird is real. I know.
This is my story:
About two weeks ago I walked up to my Ridgeline truck and there was a bird, a Robinlike thing sitting on the mirror. It flew off as I got closer. When I got in the truck I noticed the bird had shit all over the mirror. The mirror. I wondered at the physics of it. The mirror is at an angle. Gravity would tend to pull shit down, not sideways. So, the bird must have thrust its cloaca towards the mirror at the moment of shitting in order to impart a horizontal velocity thus impacting the mirror.
It seemed unusual, but I am hardly an expert in vectors as they apply to avian defecation upon an inclined plane, so after puzzling over it for a few moments, I went to work, washed my truck over lunch, and promptly forgot about it. It could have been a freak gust of wind that blew the shit into my mirror.
'Tis the wind and nothing more!' I thought.
I came home that evening, got changed, and went outside for a jog. There, on the same mirror was the Shitbird. As I got closer, he flew away. There was another huge shit in the same place, plus he'd shit on the other side of the mirror as well.
I thought about this as I jogged, and concluded that my truck mirror was probably a convenient roosting spot near his nest.
Only this, and nothing more.
So, I came home and washed the shit off with the hose, and then moved my truck to the other side of my wife's car. The next morning, no bird, no shit, no problem.... until I opened the door. While the bird was nowhere to be seen, there was birdshit on the door handle.... and now my hand.
I am beginning to feel mildly peeved.
I go back to the house, wash my hand, get a towel and some windex, wipe off the door handle, and go to work. I saw no bird. No reason to assume it was the same bird, right? No reason to get angry. I just let it go.
For a week, that's the end of it.
Last Saturday, I drive off in the morning for a run with my running buddy. I return at 10 AM. It is already getting hot. At work, in the heat, I leave the windows partly open to keep the inside of the car cool. If I'm at home for the night I leave them closed in case it rains. On a Saturday in July, if I know I'm going out again, and if it is really hot, and then, only sometimes, I will leave the windows open to keep the car cool. Last Saturday was an if, if, and sometimes kind of July Saturday.
Later that day, when I returned to the car, the Shitbird was on the mirror, and so was the shit. I walked closer and the shitbird flew off. It wasn't a particularly big shit on the mirror, but it was a shit nonetheless.
"Hmmm. " I thought. "I'm going to have to do something about this."
I checked the door handle, and it was clean. I opened the door, got in, turned on the key, put the truck in "drive" and got shit all over my hand. The Shitbird had crapped right on the gear selector. It had also crapped on the dashboard. Oddly, the first thought that crossed my mind was "Well, that solves that puzzle." The vast quantity of shit on the gear selector and dashboard explained the relatively small quantity of shit on the mirror. The Shitbird must have been nearly empty for his final effort.
That evening, after cleaning the car... again, I told my wife of the Shitbird. "What are you going to do, Scylla?" She asked.
I looked at her mildly. "I'm going to kill the Motherfucker."
Sunday morning, I got the pellet gun, a cup of coffee, the new Dave Robicheaux novel and a chair. I put the truck in the Shirtbird's preferred location, and then I waited.
(Part two coming up. Will post this now, so it doesn't get lost to the Hamsters.)
This is a story of a curse. Of a rage and hatred to equal that of Achilles on the fields of Troy. And, as Briseus was to Achilles, so is the placement of this thread in this forum to me. Leave this thread in the Pit, where it belongs or suffer the curse of He-whose-thread-must-not-be-moved.
Despite, my genteel language in describing the following events, my rage is large. It is only with the greatest degree of self-control, that I describe the following in mild language. Think of it as the calm whisper of a madman before he explodes.
****
Perhaps you've heard of the Shitbird. If so, it has probably come up in the context of Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, Unicorns, Aliens, or threesomes with college girls. Everybody knows somebody who claims they've seen bigfoot, or had a threesome, but in the way of urban myths, nobody will actually claim that they, personally, have firsthand knowledge. So, let's get this out of the way:
The Shitbird is real. I know.
This is my story:
About two weeks ago I walked up to my Ridgeline truck and there was a bird, a Robinlike thing sitting on the mirror. It flew off as I got closer. When I got in the truck I noticed the bird had shit all over the mirror. The mirror. I wondered at the physics of it. The mirror is at an angle. Gravity would tend to pull shit down, not sideways. So, the bird must have thrust its cloaca towards the mirror at the moment of shitting in order to impart a horizontal velocity thus impacting the mirror.
It seemed unusual, but I am hardly an expert in vectors as they apply to avian defecation upon an inclined plane, so after puzzling over it for a few moments, I went to work, washed my truck over lunch, and promptly forgot about it. It could have been a freak gust of wind that blew the shit into my mirror.
'Tis the wind and nothing more!' I thought.
I came home that evening, got changed, and went outside for a jog. There, on the same mirror was the Shitbird. As I got closer, he flew away. There was another huge shit in the same place, plus he'd shit on the other side of the mirror as well.
I thought about this as I jogged, and concluded that my truck mirror was probably a convenient roosting spot near his nest.
Only this, and nothing more.
So, I came home and washed the shit off with the hose, and then moved my truck to the other side of my wife's car. The next morning, no bird, no shit, no problem.... until I opened the door. While the bird was nowhere to be seen, there was birdshit on the door handle.... and now my hand.
I am beginning to feel mildly peeved.
I go back to the house, wash my hand, get a towel and some windex, wipe off the door handle, and go to work. I saw no bird. No reason to assume it was the same bird, right? No reason to get angry. I just let it go.
For a week, that's the end of it.
Last Saturday, I drive off in the morning for a run with my running buddy. I return at 10 AM. It is already getting hot. At work, in the heat, I leave the windows partly open to keep the inside of the car cool. If I'm at home for the night I leave them closed in case it rains. On a Saturday in July, if I know I'm going out again, and if it is really hot, and then, only sometimes, I will leave the windows open to keep the car cool. Last Saturday was an if, if, and sometimes kind of July Saturday.
Later that day, when I returned to the car, the Shitbird was on the mirror, and so was the shit. I walked closer and the shitbird flew off. It wasn't a particularly big shit on the mirror, but it was a shit nonetheless.
"Hmmm. " I thought. "I'm going to have to do something about this."
I checked the door handle, and it was clean. I opened the door, got in, turned on the key, put the truck in "drive" and got shit all over my hand. The Shitbird had crapped right on the gear selector. It had also crapped on the dashboard. Oddly, the first thought that crossed my mind was "Well, that solves that puzzle." The vast quantity of shit on the gear selector and dashboard explained the relatively small quantity of shit on the mirror. The Shitbird must have been nearly empty for his final effort.
That evening, after cleaning the car... again, I told my wife of the Shitbird. "What are you going to do, Scylla?" She asked.
I looked at her mildly. "I'm going to kill the Motherfucker."
Sunday morning, I got the pellet gun, a cup of coffee, the new Dave Robicheaux novel and a chair. I put the truck in the Shirtbird's preferred location, and then I waited.
(Part two coming up. Will post this now, so it doesn't get lost to the Hamsters.)
J
Jackmannii
Guest
Preview: Scylla shoots the Shitbird.
All is calm for a week, and then Scylla walks out to his truck, only to find that several members of PETA have taken a dump in it.
Scylla grabs his handy SKS rifle, and waits...
All is calm for a week, and then Scylla walks out to his truck, only to find that several members of PETA have taken a dump in it.
Scylla grabs his handy SKS rifle, and waits...
G
GargoyleWB
Guest
Just wait until it comes back and starts the "Bird season -- Scylla season -- bird season -- Scylla season --" change-up on him. Will Scylla lose an eye in the aftermath?
M
magellan01
Guest
I had a forefather of he Shitbird do almost the same thing to me about two years ago. First the one mirror 1, 2, 3 times inside of a week. The a hiatus of about a week. Then the mirror again. Then after about three days, I stopped to run in and left the windows open. No shit on the mirror. No shit inside the car. But the mother of all bird shits right on the friggin rolled down window. After trying to get it off by roll up window—clean—roll up window—clean—roll down window—clean, for about 20 minutes, without great success, I took the car to the mechanic I know and had him yank the damn panel off and clean it. Frustrating as hell.
But then, my shitbird stopped. I think it might have been all the cleaning product, but who the hell knows. Good luck with your Elmer J. Fudding.
But then, my shitbird stopped. I think it might have been all the cleaning product, but who the hell knows. Good luck with your Elmer J. Fudding.
C
Count Blucher
Guest
Why do I hear music playing...?
...Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you'll never change...!
And this bird you'll never change...!
C
Cat Whisperer
Guest
Birds are much smarter than we think they are. Except maybe Threadshitbirds. They're probably just as smart as we think they are.
E
elucidator
Guest
The bird shits on your truck. Your truck shits in his air. Look at it from his point of view.
K
Klytus
Guest
Oh, for Pete's sake, don't bother. You get a hardon for a fucking bird because you can't be bothered to take the minor effort required to keep birds out of your car. Whoop-de-do.
The necessity of looking up every few minutes to check for the Shitbird made it difficult to read. It kept intruding into my thoughts. What did the Shitbird want? What was it about my truck, that so attracted the Shitbird? The color?
These questions were a defense mechanism, a compensation. In my secret heart I feared, that I knew the truth. My truck had nothing to do with it. The Shitbird had come for me. One can hide from these things, but in one form or another we all have it coming, and the Shitbird is waiting. As I kind of, sort of, read my book I gradually admitted this truth to myself. What I couldn't figure out though was why. I couldn't recall pissing of any gypsies recently. Perhaps it was the spirit of a dead enemy? Sadly, as far as I knew, all my enemies (such as Frank) were still alive (which I guess doesn't say much about my skills as a nemesis.) I couldn't think of any wrongs that I'd committed which could be symbolically righted by the curse of the Shitbird.
Maybe it was just one of those things. In The Raven, the narrator hadn't done anything wrong except pine for his girlfriend. In the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, all the sailor does is kill a seagull, and then everybody on the ship practically dies of thirst except the narrator who is then cursed for eternity to walk around confessing his bird murder to wedding guests.....
Hmmmm. Considering the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, was what I was planning a good idea? Anyway, what were the chances the bird would show up while I was actually waiting for it with a pellet gun in my hands?
And then of course the Shitbird showed up. It took residence on the truck mirror. I lifted up the pellet gun which was equipped with a cheap scope and sighted on the nasty thing.
By now, the astute among you will realize that there's a problem here that I failed to foresee. Had I thought things, through I'd have realized the problem and the potential consequences. It should have been obvious. In hindsight, it was.
I had the Shitbird in my sights, and, when the Shitbird is in your sights, what do you do?
You pull the trigger.
So I pulled the trigger.
(Part 3, the finale, coming up.)
These questions were a defense mechanism, a compensation. In my secret heart I feared, that I knew the truth. My truck had nothing to do with it. The Shitbird had come for me. One can hide from these things, but in one form or another we all have it coming, and the Shitbird is waiting. As I kind of, sort of, read my book I gradually admitted this truth to myself. What I couldn't figure out though was why. I couldn't recall pissing of any gypsies recently. Perhaps it was the spirit of a dead enemy? Sadly, as far as I knew, all my enemies (such as Frank) were still alive (which I guess doesn't say much about my skills as a nemesis.) I couldn't think of any wrongs that I'd committed which could be symbolically righted by the curse of the Shitbird.
Maybe it was just one of those things. In The Raven, the narrator hadn't done anything wrong except pine for his girlfriend. In the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, all the sailor does is kill a seagull, and then everybody on the ship practically dies of thirst except the narrator who is then cursed for eternity to walk around confessing his bird murder to wedding guests.....
Hmmmm. Considering the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, was what I was planning a good idea? Anyway, what were the chances the bird would show up while I was actually waiting for it with a pellet gun in my hands?
And then of course the Shitbird showed up. It took residence on the truck mirror. I lifted up the pellet gun which was equipped with a cheap scope and sighted on the nasty thing.
By now, the astute among you will realize that there's a problem here that I failed to foresee. Had I thought things, through I'd have realized the problem and the potential consequences. It should have been obvious. In hindsight, it was.
I had the Shitbird in my sights, and, when the Shitbird is in your sights, what do you do?
You pull the trigger.
So I pulled the trigger.
(Part 3, the finale, coming up.)
C
carnivorousplant
Guest
Perhaps an R/C blimp could catch the shitbird.
A
AWB
Guest
Awww... "Poe" you... 
D
Damuri Ajashi
Guest
ROFLMAO.
I was once at the Grand Canyon and I bought a couple of sandwiches (chips and soda included) at a lunch stand. So my wife and I sit by the edge of the canyon and are about to eat our lunch when this HUGE squirrel comes along and literally dances on its hind legs in front of us. So I throw it a potato chip. It nibbles on the chip and starts dancing again so I put down my sandwich and start tossing potato chips at this dancing squirrel. Suddenly the squirrel turns around and runs away. I think "oh well, that was interesting" and reach for my sandwich only to see ANOTHER freakishly large squirrel running down the canyon with my frikkiing sandwich!!! I look at my wife, she is laughing her ass off and starts tossing potato chips at me telling me to dance.
Well, at least it took two of them to outsmart me.
S
Shot From Guns
Guest
M
magellan01
Guest
How much will the new mirror be costing you?
B
BoBettie
Guest
Now THAT'S a great story!
G
GHO57
Guest
At least the bird doesn't hate you enough to commit suicide. I've got kamikaze birds. I'll be sitting down watching TV... and *BOOOM!!* a bird flies into the window. I've had to throw 7 of them in the trash in the last month, and that's not counting the ones the neighbor's cat manages to drag off and dispose of before I find them.