I’ve seen enough and thought enough that I reckon I’ve a few
decent ideas as to why a pigeon is funky.
Diseases hate you
Why fear disease when you yourself are inhabited by
everything nature can throw at you? Thems diseases run like the fuckin’
clappers when they encounter you. You walk around with half a dick hanging off
you still getting pussy like it’s the 70s. Your feet are mangled from getting
string wrapped around them, but that shit ain’t infected. You still getting
pussy and fucking up other pigeons coz you rule the tribe. Be glad that you
have every infection known; they’re battling each other for dominance rather
than your immune system.
Pussy
What do pigeons do? They breed. With who? With each
other. You’re a walking, chirping pussy
magnet. Be thankful, we don’t all sport this same identity. I heard a tale
where the pigeon problem in France (I believe Paris) got so bad that half the
pigeon population was brutally pillaged, murdered and executed, but the remaining
half cared not a fuck in the world. More food meant more babies and sex. BAM.
Problem came back sooner than spunk could harden.
Eat. Fuck. Die.
Who wouldn’t love to eat all the food you can, have a load
of sex, then die happily knowing your legacy will live on?
Numbers
These very avian heroes are testament to the fact that they
really can’t kill us all.
Tax
The pigeon is an expert on avoiding taxes. Cunt.
Time
She drifts in the air without a care. She chirps and frolics
without any bollix. I’m a mad lyricist m8. The animals in the meadows and the
birds in the trees care not for time. They don’t have the capacity to
understand it exists. It’s the very bane of human existence. Why were you late?
Where have you been? You were meant to be here. When will it be ready? The list
is fucking endless. It worries us. Creeps into our consciousness. We’ve made
devices that possess the sole purpose of fucking with us. Time is the reason we
get down in life. Not the only reason, but a contributor. We’re running out of
time. We’ve too much time. I’m so mashed time is going backwards. It’s all
infinite. The pigeon knows not of time, and she is happy. She’s happy in her
world; out of ours.
No comments:
Post a Comment