I don't like crows. I know I'm a saint, but I don't.
Somebody give me one thing they're good for (besides shooting, which doesn't count). If I saw a PBS show, like ~ "Those Wonderful Crows" ~ I might be able to forgive them for being such pukes. At least I could get a little guilt about my opinion. I feel bad when I have just everything piled up in the Ask God To Kill It column.
High enough to topple over.
Some might spill into the Tolerance column, and that would make me really hot if they got away with that.
The noise they make. Do they have to do that. I'm sure it represents some complex form of communication, or they could just be bitchy shitheads.
They know they're annoying. I could prove it if I had time, or any desire to go looking for them. (Would you rather be immersed in, say, orchids all day, or some crappy caca crows?) Scientists never prove something like that. "CROWS ARE ANNOYING ~ ON PURPOSE."
That nerve-saw sound reminds me of putting a pair of rusty, spring-loaded grass clippers up by your ear, and opening and closing them. (Don't get them too close. Get your ear caught in the spring, and you'll blame me for it.) Can't oil them, they must have been rusting outside for a Spring month; and do this squeaking thing right by your ear for twenty minutes. See ~ these bastards are not as complicated as you thought.
I remember crows, maybe it was jays, trying to pick fur out of a scared cat's back. Heh heh. Not that kitties don't deserve it.
As a scientist, I could build a grandstand for mice, and let them watch. Coliseumice. I wonder if they'd look, or just run away scared. Might have to see if the seat rows need covered; still, I don't think crows eat mice. They could be covered with plexiglass, but I hate it when something like that interferes with an experiment. It's extra work, but we could put thin wires or fishing line above the plexiglass covers to keep the crows from liting and scaring the mice. The amphitheatre would be about 12 feet wide, with a six foot circle in the center for Tippy, and a ring of three-by-three-foot-tall stands.
It would be quite a scene, from the inside. Imagine you're a mouse, seeing that big fatheaded cat tethered to a volleyball pole, and B-52 size blackbirds coming in from above and behind you, drooping down with monstrous flapping and making that stupid pussy-wussy duck. Wow!!!
There's a lot still to be wondered.
How much could you make off millet and foam fingers?
It seems the same as the stock market. An allegory. Or simile. Demonstration? A dem-o with something that works almost the same, and you wait for people to "figure it out."
I should be out doing science. But what if I'm wrong? |
