I'm Forming A Hunting Party.
I love my car. There. I said it. All the pseudo-psychoanalysts of EP can come in and tell me about ob
It's a 1998 BMW M3 convertible. Write-me-a-ticket-Red, black leather, 5-speed manual, only 74,000 miles on the clock. Just under two years ago I flew halfway across the country to pick it up, and drove home non-stop (except for gas, coffee and coffee disposal) in 11 hours with a snow and ice storm on my heels the whole way. Call me crazy, but I don't care. I looked for months to find exactly what I wanted, and as is my nature, when I know what I want, I'm not afraid to go get it.
But that's not the point of this story. This story is about the presence of evil in this world. Because I love the Red Rocket, I keep her very clean. I enjoy washing and waxing her, keeping the cloth top looking new, just making her look good. Not out of pride, just because I like to. And yes, I know the horndogs and analysts will be all over that one... have fun. So back to the evil...
There's this bird. Actually, I don't think it's a bird, but instead the mutated spawn of the devil. Some feathered freak belched from the depths of hell because not even the devil could stand its presence any longer. This winged menace has an unusual gift and has obviously singled me out as the benefactor of that gift.
You see, this bird craps. A lot. Sorry for the language, but "defecation" just doesn't do it justice. Normally, I'd have no reason to be concerned about the bowel movements of an "animal" but this one has forced me to take a personal interest. At least once a day, this infernal feathered dung factory insists on parking himself on the drivers side mirror of the Red Rocket, and despoiling her window and door panel. And I'm not talking about a few drops, either. Before I first saw this demon, I was beginning to wonder if an elephant at the zoo had escaped.
Cleaning her has become a daily chore. This foul fowl obviously subsists on a diet of superglue and snake vomit. Or perhaps it sneaks through back door of hell each day to scoop a beakfull of molten lava mixed with the souls of the evil. Either way, it's just nasty... evil nasty. I tried to make peace. I tried parking my car in a different part of the lot each day, but either this thing is drawn to the red as a reminder of home, or I'm being severely punished for a heinous crime I don't remember committing. I've watched helplessly from my office window as it perches on the mirror, waving it's leathery little wings at me... mocking me... before lifting it's dragon-like tail and depositing a blob of filth on my helpless car.
So. I have decided to form a hunting party. While not one normally prone to violence, I really see no alternative. Before the animal-rights folks come surround my office with torches and pitchforks, understand that this is no animal... it may even be the devil incarnate. So gather your wooden stakes, your silver bullets, perhaps even a few crosses and strings of garlic, as I have no idea what it will take to vanquish this flying, crap-spewing beast.
I'm forming a hunting party. Today.