In completely true-story movie The Birds, the title creatures sit around minding their own business and then, just when you get comfortable, they attack you in droves, causing a lot of screaming and running around and it makes your vision turn black and white. Nowadays, with the threat of mass bird attacks mostly gone, America faces another avian threat. Well, our cars do anyway.
The staff here at MojoFiction wonders why birds target our car on a regular basis. No, they’re not stealing our rims. We put a stop to that after the third time by cleverly buying generic rims from Sears that no one would want except maybe the nice old lady who lives on the corner (we’re watching her very closely). MojoFiction:1 – Birds: 0. …well, Birds: 3 actually, but we feel good about our current position. Anyway, what we’re talking about is birds dropping a deuce on our car.
A huge tree takes up most of the small yard in front of our townhouse and overhangs our driveway. On any given day we can stand outside and see that our driveway looks pristine – not a bird dropping on it. But park our car there for an hour and it ends up covered in purple schplutz. Several times we’ve been in the house and thought we heard hail. We ran outside to move the car into the garage only to find out that it wasn’t hail…
When we used to live on the north side of Chicago we owned a white(ish) Chevy Cavalier, a horse of a car that soldiered on for 168,000 miles before dropping dead of embarrassment when it realized it was a Chevy Cavalier. That car used to attract the pigeons like whatever it is that attracts pigeons (probably Chevys). They would follow us everywhere in that car. That’s a scary thing when you live in Chicago because those birds run their territory with an iron fist. That’s right, in Chicago they have fists. The flock you really have to watch out for, according to police records, is the Fullerton Raiders. They own a supposedly legit tattoo shop under the El tracks, but their enforcers hang out on top of a billboard, underneath of which is a thirty-foot pile of petrified pigeon leavings that lets you know you’re in their hood now.
We used to think they were just marking their territory by decorating our tragic Cavalier. But it turns out that pigeons are very superstitious. From the air, our dropping encrusted car looked like a huge pigeon circling the block looking for leftover human food (we were just looking for parking). And they worshipped it:
“Hurry, follow our God! He will lead us to the land of forever bread crumbs promised in legend, where there will be much feasting and pooping!”
” …But someone remind Brian not to poop on the feasting!”
When our car died and we had to get a new one, the birds stopped following us. Also, we moved to the suburbs.
But outside of Chicago, sometimes known as Chicagoland (or The Wastelands, to Cook County residents), the birds don’t need to flock together to control their human underlings, thanks to their ultra-secret, high-tech spying network secretly known as the National Avian Security Agency (NASA). Before Snowden blew the lid off that one, you couldn’t walk by a pine tree in the suburbs without passing under one of their listening stations. They say they only monitor for cats, hawks, and the occasional worm, for home-nest security purposes, but now we’ve found out they’ve been actively searching for clean, shiny cars, and sometimes a bald head or a fresh ice-cream cone. But instead of shutting down their operations, they claim to have updated their system of checks and balances but, no, they won’t tell us how for security reasons. We just have to trust them.
MojoFiction’s car, however, has been targeted often as of late and we’re starting to think there’s some profiling going on. The only thing that seems to even the odds is the chain saw we bought that we use to threaten to cut down the tree on our yard. But we know they’re still watching us.
Maybe they’re mad because we tried to get them put on the no-fly list. But they’re birds and they just gave us the middle feather and went on their way.
And if you think that joke was cringe-worthy then we know a place where you can go park your car.
1. We’re letting you know up front that this blog entry is pointless. We just really wanted to whine about all the bird poop on our car.