I shit on you you you you stupid little bird, you. Godlee you silly goose poop. I mean your poop is green, just like a Goose. What kind of goose poops brown? I’ve never heard of a brown pooping goose. Maybe you’re a swan. With big ole’ white wings and orange beak. You swan like pooper. Little pellets of poop. That’s what you are bird. A bird of pellet poops. If you ate an M&M it’d be a green one, I bet. Why green, you ask? Well if you ate a blue one you’d explode of course. Yellow you’d get sick. Brown, they don’t make brown M&Ms anymore, silly. Jeez get with the times man. No, not the NYtimes. Just get in reality. Stop living in that fantasy word of olive trees and strawberry bushes. I know you like to eat strawberries, but they’ll kill you i tell you. They’re out to get you. I heard them talking the other day about killing you lil ole’ bird. Man what would you taste like? I bet you taste like city smog and a log. Why a log and smog? Only because they rhyme of course. See, I’m what you’d call a poet. Yes, I know that you need to have a standard of prose and motion, but I’m a man of pros and cons. I can rhyme on occasion. And to me that’s poetry. Rhyming one sentence’s end to another. I mean I do have a mother! You like what I did just there. Watch what I’m about to do over here. I could try to write in iambic pentameter, but I am a simple man. I know no wit. For godsakes look into my eyes. Can you see a divine power in these eyes of mine. No! Of course not! I am not here to impress you with a devilish twirl. I am simply here to kill you little bird. The strawberries have paid a large sum. Two years of harvest to be exact. I get to eat those elder’s children they tell me. One bye one. Any way I wish. I could eat them raw or with a little sugar. I could even bake them into a pie. I could eat them with you if I ever so wish little bird. Right after I kill you. I will eat you. Stupid little bird why haven’t you flown away. Do you think that I won’t kill you myself. I wish you not to test me. See here, I have my weapon. A simple shovel to most, but in the hands of a mad man it is a killer’s shovel. I have taken the life of two squirrels and the head of a snake, I tell you!