As you know, my husband is hard at work getting his Market Square restaurant ready for opening. Last week he had a repair man in the restaurant to do some miscellaneous repair that required the man to open a hatch to the glass roof of the business.
Unfortunately, Mr. Repair Man forgot to close the hatch and the pigeons, they did notice and they sent in their ninja, who while performing a dazzling display of nunchuckery, entered the hatch and laid in wait. My husband arrived the next morning and was ready to get to work when he heard a THWAP-THWAP-THWAP, which isn’t unusual because with a glass roof, the pigeons use every opportunity they can to remind my husband that they are there. That they watch. That they know.
Know what, exactly? I don’t know. But they know.
Then came a more urgent, louder THWAPTHWAPTHWAP and my husband looked at his employee and asked, “That sounded close, didn’t it?”
The employee’s eyes grew wide as he glanced above my husband’s head and whispered something about chinga-ing your madre. A pigeon had appeared and proceeded to do a fly-by so close to my husband’s head he could hear the soft “mwah-hahah” coming from the pigeon’s beak. Or its cloaca. Pigeons are devil-borne so I have no idea which part of their bodies emits the cackles.
The men ducked as the pigeon continued to fly about the restaurant while flipping them off with one wing and expertly whipping ninja stars at their cowering heads with the other (I’M NOT EXAGGERATING!).
With the men sufficiently terrorized and having exhausted his supply of death stars, the ninja pigeon went kamikaze and rammed himself violently and with great speed head-first into the windows that encase the restaurant.
Being indestructible, the pigeon was merely stunned and did not die.
Completely drunk from brain damage, the pigeon lifted himself up from the ground and began stumbling about the floor of the restaurant, barely able to walk, while the employees gathered around to watch the drunken dance and to wager on when exactly the pigeon would finally die. (“I got seventy pesos on ‘As soon as Ginny shows up’!”)
My husband, feeling sorry for the pigeon and obviously wanting a divorce from me, gently and lovingly [gag] scooped the pigeon up in an old shirt and carried it downstairs and out to Market Square where he placed the pigeon on the sidewalk.
The pigeon, still completely disoriented while downloading a new operating system from Satan (Beelzebub XP), stumbled out into the street where unfortunately it realized it would be undercarriage guts if it didn’t move. The pigeon then backed up and leaned his fat, damaged, french-fry bloated body against the curb and wearily rested his head on the sidewalk to await further instructions from Satan.
My husband watched as the pigeon finished the download, rebooted himself, selected “Safe Mode”, froze up, did a hard reboot, shook his head to clear the registry and finally flew away to celebrate his great success with his knowing bastard friends.
My husband watched it go and said “Awww” and I called an attorney to cite irreconcilable differences and to see who would get the autographed Franco Harris jersey and the Keurig in the divorce.
So if you see a nunchuck-wielding pigeon hanging out in Market Square bragging about how it lured that PittGirl bitch’s husband to the dark side, you know what to do.
Avenge me. Hard.
Now, once again, with further apologies to Dave Barry, I am not making this up and The Cackling Cloacas would make a great band name.