Tag Archives: turds

So this blog story was originally written and published on 7/5/2012.  This is the first entry that I wrote that actually

Before you read the following, you have to promise not to tell anyone involved with PETA that I have the following train of thought.  And if you are actually part of PETA, I suggest you go find some other story to read.  I don’t need the “but that is animal cruelty” responses attached to this story.  If you choose to respond in that fashion anyway, please know that your words will not save even one goose and have no way of changing my feelings in the slightest.

I don’t like geese.  I don’t like anything about them.  You know the ones–those honking, noisy, dirty, hissing, road blocking, vile birds.  Do you have them passing through your neighborhood?  They’re nasty!  I’m declaring right here that if they were to go extinct tomorrow, the world would miss nothing.  If they had some sort of link to curing diseases it would be a shame, but I don’t think you’ll ever read a story of how the goose was used to develop the cure for cancer or botulism.  I don’t even know exactly what you go through with botulism, but if I had it I’m positive that I would not go running to a goose for the cure.

I lived in an apartment about three addresses ago.  The buildings were situated around a manmade lake and there was a walking trail that my wife and I would go strolling along hand in hand.  It was a beautiful picture, as you can imagine.  Beautiful that is, until the geese arrived.  After only a couple hours of them setting up camp, the path was effectively unusable.  Goose crap everywhere.  Everywhere you look you see little green logs of turds.  Holding hands was now completely out of the question.  At this point it was single-file only, keep your eyes downward, and try to find enough space to place your next step without squashing a green log or two.  A simple walk with my wife is what I was looking for, not a game of “walking poop puzzle”.  There aren’t too many winners in that game.

The first time they came to our lake, I remember thinking that the apartment management must have aerated the grass surrounding the pond.  Way to go apartment management–you do care about how our landscaping looks.  Not so much.  The management got a free fertilizer job–a nice thorough job at that.  Good job you slimy group of birds.  Why don’t you do me a favor?  Make your “V”, fly away from here, and don’t come back.

Even the plural form of the word goose kind of bugs me.  Why do we need to swap out the O’s for E’s?  Goose goes to geese.  Why?  The word “gooses” isn’t hard to pronounce.  Say it out loud–try it?  See, it’s no problem.  It’s easy.  How arrogant is that group of birds that they need a special word for “more than one” of them?  Screw you gooses!

Another thing that completely bugs me is how they walk.  Walk!  They walk slowly from one side of the road to the other.  If I’m not mistaken, they do have wings and the ability to fly.  We have all seen them fly, but they insist upon walking ever-so slowly across our streets blocking up traffic.  It irks me that people actually stop for these pompous birds.

“I could use my wings to cross the street, but these stupid humans driving in their very large vehicles will, in fact, stop for me.  I’m a goose.  I own the road.”

You’ve been there.  You’ve done it.  You’ve stopped and waited for the group to pass by.  Consider this: You are perpetuating the problem.  Yeah you!  You goose stopper.  You are training these birds to continue walking across the streets.

I’ll tell you what, I don’t stop any more.  When I’m not trapped behind the goose-stopping drivers, when I’m fortunate enough to be the first car to the pompous goose crossing event, I keep going.  I don’t stop.  You know how many gooses (yeah gooses, not geese) that I have actually run over?  Care to guess?  None!  Because just before I get the chance to flatten that last green log out of its slow-walking existence, it decides that its wings can be used to save its own life.  They actually will fly away when targeted with 2000 pounds of vehicle.  Strange how that works.

I think the best time to not stop for them is when they have that cute little line up of baby birds trailing along.  Let us all train them to fly over our roads when they are young.  This could be a young goose’s thought pattern:  “Mom said that the cars will stop for us as we cross.  So don’t worry about that car coming directly as us.  Oh no, he ain’t stopping!  Hey, did you see mom have to fly out of the way?  Crap, maybe we should learn to fly or simply stay off the roads.  And speaking of crap, have you noticed how the older geese crank out turds bigger than us?”

So forget the mexican border issues.  I think we need to move our resources to the Canadian border.  We should quadruple the number of hunters on the border and give them the green light to take out every single canadian goose that tries to migrate to the United States.  No more slow street crossings and decorated walking paths.  No more.

And then I wrote this response…

So on September 21st I received the following one liner from someone who remained anonymous by using the name “Someone”.

“Someone:  You should be put down for writing this.  I hope your children get hit by a car while crossing the street.”

Wow!  That’s harsh.

This comment was sent to me pertaining to a blog entry I wrote back in early July.  You can read it here for yourself.  The article was an attempt at humor (like almost all of my articles) in which the voices in my head starting yelling at me while I was observing my world.

At the time of me writing this entry (the one you are reading right now), there have been two positive hey-that’s-funny comments attached to the “offensive” article and nine bloggers “liked” it.

I wrote that over two months ago.  This means that you have to dig through my blog archive in order to find it.  Or you have to actually search for the topic specifically.  Perhaps this person was wading through my archive before stumbling upon the entry that caused them mental peril.  I’m guessing that the offended person searched through my archive and read at least two other stories from my voices in my head.  I suspect that “Someone” would not enjoy my articles no matter what the subject.

“Well, those two articles were not funny, but I’ll bet the next one will make me smile.”  Click.  “Oh, now I’m completely pissed off.”

And who says “put down” when referring to a human?  Maybe that is some sort of legal mumbo jumbo to ensure deniable plausibility.  “I didn’t murder him.  I simply put him down.  He was getting heavy and I was growing tired of carrying him around.”

I went back and reread the entry twice.  Not a single bird was hurt during the writing of that entry.  In fact, through humor, I was suggesting that we humans work together in harmony (like that old Coke commercial) to train these creatures to stay off the streets.  Sort of.  Ok, at the end of the article I did suggest that hunting of these animals should be increased at the northern border of my country.  But, as implied in all hunting, the carcasses should be used to feed the needy and hungry.  How about a nice Christmas goose on your table this year?

Pertaining to Someone’s comment that wishes harm upon my children, I’ll say it again: Wow!  I’m raising good, caring boys and I am a loving father and husband.  To wish them harm because I don’t care for a particular type of bird is kind of crazy-go-nuts.  I don’t care for a whole bunch of insects, perhaps we should go after my neighbor’s children too.

Perhaps when I taught my boys street safety rules so long ago, I should have gone about it differently.

“Now boys, when crossing the street don’t bother to look both ways.  Just hiss like you’re completely irritated with the cars existence and then start walking.”

So my question for “Someone” is this:  Do you own a car?  How many ants, spiders, and caterpillars do you “put down” every time you go for a drive?   I wish all of your toenails would fall off.  No wait, I think that would be a good thing.  See here.  Ah, never mind.  Just live your life in peace and may God bless you.

I read the response from “Someone” to my family—including my boys.  One of my sons loves to read my blog and is always looking over my shoulder when I’m typing.  My wife and I have always treated them like actual real live members of this world.  He said, “Dad, you should write a response to that for your next blog entry.”

I said, “The last thing I want is a PETA war on my blog.”

He said, “Do you know how much publicity that will get you?”

Ah, the wisdom of twelve year old (who also knows how to look both ways when crossing the street).

My son says, “Buy my book or I’ll hit you with my car!

Don’t Be Mad

It finally happened.  I pissed someone off while writing my blog for entertaining purposes.

I’ve been at this blogging thing for a hand full of months now.  I started somewhere in June and have accumulated over 4000 views, over 500 likes, over 200 followers, and six e-mail subscribers  (come on people, let me send some spam to your e-mail inbox).  My blog seems to be a popular little concept and my shoulder hurts from patting myself on the back.  I think I heard my rotator cuff tear.  No worries, I’ll type the rest of this with just one hand.

If you add all those up, you’ll get over 4706.  And you’ll get the math problem wrong for adding up items that are not in the same category.  With any luck you’ll receive a passing grade based on partial credit by the time you reach the end of this entry.  Keep trying, you’ll catch on and be a mathematical whiz in no time.

So on September 21st I received the following one liner from someone who remained anonymous by using the name “Someone”.

“Someone:  You should be put down for writing this.  I hope your children get hit by a car while crossing the street.”

Wow!  That’s harsh.

This comment was sent to me pertaining to a blog entry I wrote back in early July.  You can read it here for yourself.  The article was an attempt at humor (like almost all of my articles) in which the voices in my head starting yelling at me while I was observing my world.

At the time of me writing this entry (the one you are reading right now), there have been two positive hey-that’s-funny comments attached to the “offensive” article and nine bloggers “liked” it.

I wrote that over two months ago.  This means that you have to dig through my blog archive in order to find it.  Or you have to actually search for the topic specifically.  Perhaps this person was wading through my archive before stumbling upon the entry that caused them mental peril.  I’m guessing that the offended person searched through my archive and read at least two other stories from my voices in my head.  I suspect that “Someone” would not enjoy my articles no matter what the subject.

“Well, those two articles were not funny, but I’ll bet the next one will make me smile.”  Click.  “Oh, now I’m completely pissed off.”

And who says “put down” when referring to a human?  Maybe that is some sort of legal mumbo jumbo to ensure deniable plausibility.  “I didn’t murder him.  I simply put him down.  He was getting heavy and I was growing tired of carrying him around.”

I went back and reread the entry twice.  Not a single bird was hurt during the writing of that entry.  In fact, through humor, I was suggesting that we humans work together in harmony (like that old Coke commercial) to train these creatures to stay off the streets.  Sort of.  Ok, at the end of the article I did suggest that hunting of these animals should be increased at the northern border of my country.  But, as implied in all hunting, the carcasses should be used to feed the needy and hungry.  How about a nice Christmas goose on your table this year?

Pertaining to Someone’s comment that wishes harm upon my children, I’ll say it again: Wow!  I’m raising good, caring boys and I am a loving father and husband.  To wish them harm because I don’t care for a particular type of bird is kind of crazy-go-nuts.  I don’t care for a whole bunch of insects, perhaps we should go after my neighbor’s children too.

Perhaps when I taught my boys street safety rules so long ago, I should have gone about it differently.

“Now boys, when crossing the street don’t bother to look both ways.  Just hiss like you’re completely irritated with the cars existence and then start walking.”

So my question for “Someone” is this:  Do you own a car?  How many ants, spiders, and caterpillars do you “put down” every time you go for a drive?   I wish all of your toenails would fall off.  No wait, I think that would be a good thing.  See here.  Ah, never mind.  Just live your life in peace and may God bless you.

I read the response from “Someone” to my family—including my boys.  One of my sons loves to read my blog and is always looking over my shoulder when I’m typing.  My wife and I have always treated them like actual real live members of this world.  He said, “Dad, you should write a response to that for your next blog entry.”

I said, “The last thing I want is a PETA war on my blog.”

He said, “Do you know how much publicity that will get you?”

Ah, the wisdom of twelve year old (who also knows how to look both ways when crossing the street).

My son says, “Buy my book or I’ll hit you with my car!

Nasty Birds

Before you read the following, you have to promise not to tell anyone involved with PETA that I have the following train of thought.  And if you are actually part of PETA, I suggest you go find some other story to read.  I don’t need the “but that is animal cruelty” responses attached to this story.  If you choose to respond in that fashion anyway, please know that your words will not save even one goose and have no way of changing my feelings in the slightest.

I don’t like geese.  I don’t like anything about them.  You know the ones–those honking, noisy, dirty, hissing, road blocking, vile birds.  Do you have them passing through your neighborhood?  They’re nasty!  I’m declaring right here that if they were to go extinct tomorrow, the world would miss nothing.  If they had some sort of link to curing diseases it would be a shame, but I don’t think you’ll ever read a story of how the goose was used to develop the cure for cancer or botulism.  I don’t even know exactly what you go through with botulism, but if I had it I’m positive that I would not go running to a goose for the cure.

I lived in an apartment about three addresses ago.  The buildings were situated around a manmade lake and there was a walking trail that my wife and I would go strolling along hand in hand.  It was a beautiful picture, as you can imagine.  Beautiful that is, until the geese arrived.  After only a couple hours of them setting up camp, the path was effectively unusable.  Goose crap everywhere.  Everywhere you look you see little green logs of turds.  Holding hands was now completely out of the question.  At this point it was single-file only, keep your eyes downward, and try to find enough space to place your next step without squashing a green log or two.  A simple walk with my wife is what I was looking for, not a game of “walking poop puzzle”.  There aren’t too many winners in that game.

The first time they came to our lake, I remember thinking that the apartment management must have aerated the grass surrounding the pond.  Way to go apartment management–you do care about how our landscaping looks.  Not so much.  The management got a free fertilizer job–a nice thorough job at that.  Good job you slimy group of birds.  Why don’t you do me a favor?  Make your “V”, fly away from here, and don’t come back.

Even the plural form of the word goose kind of bugs me.  Why do we need to swap out the O’s for E’s?  Goose goes to geese.  Why?  The word “gooses” isn’t hard to pronounce.  Say it out loud–try it?  See, it’s no problem.  It’s easy.  How arrogant is that group of birds that they need a special word for “more than one” of them?  Screw you gooses!

Another thing that completely bugs me is how they walk.  Walk!  They walk slowly from one side of the road to the other.  If I’m not mistaken, they do have wings and the ability to fly.  We have all seen them fly, but they insist upon walking ever-so slowly across our streets blocking up traffic.  It irks me that people actually stop for these pompous birds.

“I could use my wings to cross the street, but these stupid humans driving in their very large vehicles will, in fact, stop for me.  I’m a goose.  I own the road.”

You’ve been there.  You’ve done it.  You’ve stopped and waited for the group to pass by.  Consider this: You are perpetuating the problem.  Yeah you!  You goose stopper.  You are training these birds to continue walking across the streets.

I’ll tell you what, I don’t stop any more.  When I’m not trapped behind the goose-stopping drivers, when I’m fortunate enough to be the first car to the pompous goose crossing event, I keep going.  I don’t stop.  You know how many gooses (yeah gooses, not geese) that I have actually run over?  Care to guess?  None!  Because just before I get the chance to flatten that last green log out of its slow-walking existence, it decides that its wings can be used to save its own life.  They actually will fly away when targeted with 2000 pounds of vehicle.  Strange how that works.

I think the best time to not stop for them is when they have that cute little line up of baby birds trailing along.  Let us all train them to fly over our roads when they are young.  This could be a young goose’s thought pattern:  “Mom said that the cars will stop for us as we cross.  So don’t worry about that car coming directly as us.  Oh no, he ain’t stopping!  Hey, did you see mom have to fly out of the way?  Crap, maybe we should learn to fly or simply stay off the roads.  And speaking of crap, have you noticed how the older geese crank out turds bigger than us?”

So forget the mexican border issues.  I think we need to move our resources to the Canadian border.  We should quadruple the number of hunters on the border and give them the green light to take out every single canadian goose that tries to migrate to the United States.  No more slow street crossings and decorated walking paths.  No more.

buy my book!

PS – Upon receiving a nasty-gram months later, I wrote this.