I don't normally revel in death.... well..... usually not. Sometimes I think people meet their just end, sure. But I don't really celebrate it. That's a little too emo for even me. And my mom made me buy white and grey shirts in high school because she said I 'wear too much black' and she was worried I was super emo. Now look at me, almost thirty and I wear nothing but black and there's nothing she can do to stop me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am emo now and nobody can tell me not to do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway, I haven't ever really been happy something or someone died until I saw that bird gored to death out in the parking lot. I even kicked its intestines around just to make sure it was a real dead bird. You know, instead of a fake one.
So we live on the top floor of an apartment building. Not like, the nice kind where you have a view, it's just what was offered to us, so now I have to hike my lard ass up the stairs just to sit and/or lie down in my own house. It's bullshit, right? Even bringing home candy and soda to indulge in, I still have to carry it upstairs. Suffering from success.
Anyway, so we live on the top floor so there has been a particularly pestering crow that must have had a nest somewhere on the roof. Because the God forsaken bird would never shut up. And we could always hear it, even with the windows closed. However in the spring, summer and fall (And winter. Idk she is weird) my wife likes to sleep with the window open. And literally every morning between 5 and 6 that damn bird would start cawing. For like an hour. I have to be to work at 5:30 every day, so I am usually somewhat lucid by the time he would start yakking, but my wife likes to sleep in until 8 or 9. So naturally this bird became a pestilence. Every morning she would sigh heavily and slam the window shut and try (unsuccessfully) to go back to sleep. But she couldn't ever go back to sleep. It was kind of like the Edgar Allan Poe raven, but worse because he couldn't talk he could just shriek in a language unknown. What a dickhead, right?
I am not accusing my wife of murdering this bird, because I genuinely don't think she is capable of murder, but I would like to imagine it so. I also cannot be exactly sure that the morbid pile of a carcass out in the parking lot is the same bird that woke my wife up every day this past summer. Maybe he is still at large. Eating people's steak and ruining their lives in another, sunnier part of the world. I don't know crows migration patterns. However I do like to imagine my wife in camouflage with a huge blunderbuss and binoculars scoping out the roof of our apartment. Then, upon positively identifying the culprit, she blasts it to smithereens. She follows this up by running it over with her car and making sure he is, in fact, 100% dead. She then celebrates by smoking a large cigar and drinking a Perrier.
So, I hope that that is the bitter end for my wife's unasked-for alarm clock. Time will tell. In the meantime, there is a lady in our apartment who, literally every Saturday morning takes her children out into the parking lot and screams them into their carseats. Fortunately though, the kids yell back at her. So there is just a shouting match every Saturday morning at 7 AM out in our parking lot. I have considering shouting at them and telling them to shut the hell up, but I doubt they could hear me over the metal grinding loudness of their Saturday morning routine.
I am not suggesting that I hope this woman and her train horns for children get killed and run over in the parking lot... But that would be poetic justice. However that would make for an eerie streak of events that happened to people and birds that wake my wife up consistently. I should tread lightly. I have woken her up by farting too loudly more than once. If you find me in our parking lot ran over and all my guts are smushing out of my ass, you'll know I farted too early, and loudly, one too many times. But I died doing what I loved.
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