Starlings are cunts,
Or at least I think they are starlings.
Since our move to the new place Mrs B has lamented at the lack of squawky things in the back garden, this is mainly due to the large cat population but even they have fucked off due to my very lovable feline eating canine.
So in an attempt to please Mrs B (and perhaps improve my innings) I embarked on a “Bird friendly” exercise.
I moved her feeders from possible ambush sites, built a bird table in a safe place, hung the bird feeders under it, placed various tit bits on it, even a net bag of dog hair to line their little nests with.
Slowly and cautiously the little darlings began to appear, initially quite timid then getting bolder and venturing onto the ground.
My life is bliss I thought, she is happy I am happy, then I discovered the little cunts have eaten all my cut and come again salad that has only just sprouted! She is happy, I am not
Nominated by Lord Benny
Due to an almost astrological conjunction of fine Easter weather, a flat tyre on my bike¹, and the ongoing embarrassment² that is my ageing Volvo XC90 T6, this week I’ve mostly been walking to the shops. It takes 25 minutes via the most direct route.
Unfortunately, this route is a main road with regularly-spaced street lamps. While toiling back from Asda, in avoidance of a chavvy cunt weaving along the pavement on one of those peculiar little bikes, I nearly poked my eye out on a stout cable-tie protruding from a lamp post.
I at once became aware of a hitherto-unnoticed plague of “street furniture” embellishments of all manner. Carefully-crafted lamentations about lost pets, c/w A4-sized laminated colour inkjet print of the cat/dog prior to its absconding; handwritten and hopelessly homespun divers adverts for old bangers, crèche services, and even weed³; unfunny Red Nose comic-ephemera; even outsized plastic poppies, presumably from last Armistice Day.
This smörgåsbord of shite is affixed by a network of cable ties, usually leaving a long tail, often at eye level. On my next walk to Asda, I decided to go equipped with my trusty pair of Tronex™ tungsten carbide piano wire snips and a carrier bag. This excision of excrement elicited some quizzical glances from other pedestrians, who (like me) had stopped noticing such flyposting.
I was minded to engage in ingeniously cruel (but time-consuming) wind-ups of these cat-mourners, peddlers, and other sad cunts who disseminate in this way, but quickly regained my sanity and got on with some organ practice and gainful employ.
¹Puncture repair kit acquired and applied
²A bit of a turd now, plus it does 16 mpg even when warmed up. A trip to Asda and back would cost more in 2* than the taxi fare. The ideal vehicle, however, for accidentally mowing down Greta Thunberg at a bus stop.
³This Vodafone™ number was regrettably – but unsurprisingly – out of service.
Nominated by caughtspedding