InSecurity here again after way too long of a hiatus. This summer involved everything from Assault to Ammunition. So, yay me!
To open my hell month off, I got pooped on. By a bird. An ungrateful little bird..
My story begins with a wonderful sinus tension headache. I'm feeling like a drum is pounding in my head, and so I hit the garage for a patrol to hopefully clear out some of the pounding.
As I'm going about my business, I start to hear a "cheep" "cheep" Very consistent, and high pitched.I start hearing this on P2, and work my way down to P4, with the noise getting louder and louder with each step.By the time I find it, I'm starting to see spots.
Somehow a little sparrow had gotten out of the nest and down one of the ventilation shafts all the way to the lowest level. Shit. Down here that noisy little bugger has no food and will just attract rats, so I slipped on my gloves and got about the business of capturing the bird.
Unfortunately for me, I am no longer as swift, flexible, or clever as I remember being. Also, that seed guzzler is super quick, so here I am lumbering about trying to catch the thing looking like a Disney giant gling all "Brave Little Tailor" on a baby bird. I finally corner and grab it!
I give it a breathing hole. Big mistake. It turns out that just like cats, little birds are secretly made of liquid, so it slips out and now knows that corners are bad. Well, gorilla poo. I start all over again, and worse, it's smarter.
I keep going until, I'm spotted by another employee coming in to work. She asks me if I'm OK because it looks like I'm doing a slow, awkward Gangnam Style with back spasms. As soon as I say baby bird, she "Awwwws" and drives off.
I finally manage, with much sweating, cursing, and near pratfalls manage to grab that sine-wave sucking bird. No breathing hole for you this time! Also, sharp little claws on that thing
I then hike up the garage and after managing to open some doors using only my butt-cheeks, get around back where we have a run off stream, some trees, and grassy sections.
At least he has a fighting chance now. I turn him loose, he screams at me once, then hops into the tree line. I look down and lo and behold, the ungrateful little corncob has pooped in my hands.
Birds are dicks.
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