We can’t get any more pets because we’re not responsible enough, so instead on weekends we go to shelters or pet stores to snuggle with the animals that no one else wants to snuggle with, like weird-looking dogs or cats who are missing limbs. Even the weirdest animals eventually find a home but I’m not so sure about this one:
That is a parrot screaming at the top of his lungs. There was a sign on his cage that said “See pet counselor for assistance” and I thought it was good that this bird had a counselor because it seemed like he was in real need of therapy.
I waved a clerk over and I was like, “Hey. I think your bird is dying” and he said, “No. He just does that for attention,” as if it was the 80,000th time he’d had to explain that. And it probably was because a few minutes later another couple was like “What the…? This bird is losing. his. shit. Someone call security. I think there’s been a murder.”
Apparently this bird learned that screaming gave it attention, and so that’s what it does whenever it sees someone nearby and then they go to see what it’s deal is and the bird thinks he’s succeeded. It’s a weird definition of success, but so is measuring the amount of “likes” you got on Facebook, so more power to you, Mr. Screamy.
I told Victor that we should adopt Mr. Screamy because clearly no one else was ever going to take this bird home, and then Victor was like “There’s a reason for that. It’s because he’s screaming,” and I said, “Yeah. He’s screaming ‘LET ME LOVE YOU, VICTOR.’ Your ears just haven’t adjusted yet to his love language. It’s the language of screaming. Plus he’s really talented because he’s screaming even when he’s breathing in. He’s like bagpipes, if bagpipes were a parrot.”
I think he would also be a good fit because I have anxiety disorder and my shrink suggested getting a therapy pet to help me relax. Victor says this is probably the opposite of what she meant but I find it strangely calming because it’s like this bird is freaking out for me and I can just take a break from it. Frankly, Mr. Screamy is a perfect representation of what’s going on in my brain when I’m having a panic attack, and if you gave him a martini you probably couldn’t tell us apart.
Also, I think he’d make a great service animal for when I travel because that way other people on the plane have to suffer along with me and maybe they’ll develop more empathy, or at least let me off the plane first. Plus, I wouldn’t have to worry about people judging me because when I was next to my Screaming-Parrot-Service-Animal it would be like I was practically invisible compared to him. And people would probably let me go in front of them in long lines because my parrot would be sitting on my shoulder and screaming wildly at them as if they’d personally offended him in some way.
Victor say no, but I still think it’s a good idea.
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And in other news, it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:
What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
- Mildly threatening, but still nice. Just like you.
- This is a trivet to put hot stuff on at your next dinner party. Then when people pick up whatever is on it they’ll see this message and not know whether it’s a secret message or not. This adds excitement to your party. Excitement or paranoia. I have a hard time telling those apart.
What you missed on the internets:
This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:
- I needed this. Maybe you did too.
- Great Gatsbys