Eight Inches High and In No Mood For Nonsense

Oh, trust me, dude, you don’t want to go anywhere near that field. Seriously. Total waste of time. I went there last week. I was like you, I thought, “That field’s gotta be good, look how green it is,” and I was just flapping around killing time, so I landed on it and got all excited when I saw that I was the only bird there and it turned out to be as soft and plush as you could ever want. And big, too! Well, it was all downhill from there, let me tell you. First off, there wasn’t much of anything to eat. Seeds, zero, worms, zero. Just a few stray pretzel crumbs. Then there’s the fact that for some reason there’s a building full of losers gawking at you about a hundred feet away. But worst of all is the intrusion on your privacy in this apparent paradise. I was standing there trying to get a hold of anything edible when I hear this THWACK and I look up and this group of humans nearby who seemed to have been minding their own business suddenly starts running around like mental patients with no apparent purpose, and then some HUGE sonofabitch wearing all white comes running RIGHT AT ME at about a hundred miles an hour, trying to get to a small ball that’s falling out of the sky. Doesn’t even see me standing right there, minding my own damn business. So I flutter a few feet to the left to get out of his way before he totally steamrolls me, and the ball hits the grass in front of him, and this mysteriously causes every one of the people in the building nearby to go AWWWWWWWWW, like they had just witnessed some great tragedy. Yeah, that seems real awful, that monstrous dude not getting to the ball in time. Every bit as disturbing as, I don’t know, my struggle against STARVATION each and every day. So this gigantic freakazoid throws the ball to somebody else in white and then starts walking back past me to a spot on the grass where he had been hanging out. He looked at me and said, kind of under his breath, “Sorry about that, Mr. Bird,” and kept walking. (My name is Glen. GLEN. God forbid he should even ask.) I saw that he had the word BONDS written on his back, whatever that’s worth. Watch out for him, he’ll just start running at you out of nowhere. Not that you should even be in that field to begin with. It’s all color, all texture, no substance, and nothing but irritations. Take it from me. You want a good place to land and stretch your legs? I know it’s hackneyed and touristy, but you simply cannot beat the city dump.