Victor. You’re 55. Don’t you think that’s a bit immature - as you take this MySpace quest - for the VERY outside chance “she” just may be out there - that you include sucha blog labeled “Woo-hooooo… Nice tits!”
Ahm, excuse me Paul Harvey, might I tell the rest of the story?
Three years ago… Lunch with a co-worker… He, early 20’s, glimmering with hope/wonder about life - being out of school.. Enjoying every “I’m finally out here in the real world” minute.
We had to make a pit stop by his dad’s for something before spinning thru Burger King (Dad single)… Dad at work.. Walked in the door - immediately met with “Woo-hoooo… Nice tits!”… Joe didn’t even seem to notice - I however was aghast, (and laughing), as I peeked across the room at the Myna bird. Joe’s dad (I guess) had trained him well. It was as if there were twelve guys sitting around passing a Playboy around - and the one staring at the three page foldout had said it.
I needs me onea them birds… No, not to whoop that out when a guest entered - but perhaps to train them to say special things on special occasions… You know, an ally…
I mean, how good could “WOW Suzie, you’re even sexier than he made you out to be’ be?
Or… “There’s a crazed Postal Worker wandering around the neighborhood. DON’T GO OUT THERE. You MUST spend the night.”
Mebbe, “Damn it’s hot in here… I think I’ll take off my shirt. Want some water?”
Or even…….”Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep… this is Joe Thomas with Edward D. Jones, just wanting to let you know your 10,000 shares in AZT went up over $6 a share today.” You go Myna bird, you go.
I’d even like Myna relating “In every life we have some trouble, But when you worry you make it double, Don't worry, be happy… Don't worry, be happy now.”
Now… THIS would take hella training. A kajillion in sunflower seeds… but can you picture… bringing “her” home.. Relaxing… a few glasses of wine… lights turned down low… temp perfect… snuggled side-by-side on the sofa.. And Myna retorts:
Ok, here we go, we got a real pressure cooker
going here, two down, nobody on, no score,
bottom of the ninth, there's the wind-up and
there it is, a line shot up the middle, look
at him go. This boy can really fly!
He's rounding first and really turning it on
now, he's not letting up at all, he's gonna
try for second; the ball is bobbled out in center,
and here comes the throw, and what a throw!
He's gonna slide in head first, here he comes, he's out!
No, wait, safe--safe at second base, this kid really
makes things happen out there.
Batter steps up to the plate, here's the pitch--
he's going, and what a jump he's got, he's trying
for third, here's the throw, it's in the dirt--
safe at third! Holy cow, stolen base!
He's taking a pretty big lead out there, almost
daring him to try and pick him off. The pitcher
glance over, winds up, and it's bunted, bunted
down the third base line, the suicide squeeze in on!
Here he comes, squeeze play, it's gonna be close,
here's the throw, there's the play at the plate,
holy cow, I think he's gonna make it!
STOP RIGHT THERE! We could get Myna to continue “let me sleep on it.. Baby baby let me sleep on it.”
Fun. Life with a Myna could be fun. I think it’d be fun just to walk around the house and teach it to say “Kiss my ass.”… or “my, my, you didn’t get enough sleep”…
Or… as I was leaving “going to the AARP meeting?”…
I’d even enjoy “get a life you sonofabitch, are you gonna play on that computer ALL night?”(
Or mebbe as my own personal little “self help Myna bird”.. as in walking out the door, “remember today is the first day of the resta ur life”… . or even, “you’re embarrassing, please don’t return until you’ve gotten laid.”
“Whatup dude.’… “Word”… “Oh Richard.”… “Piece be with you.”.. “Pretty bird.” “Fly Robert fly.”… “A bird in the hand……”… “Birds of a feather will flock together”…
Victor, you’ve been voted off the island. Simon Cowell was so flabbergasted he couldn’t speak… The first few paragraphs were so disgustingly sexual even Hillary blushed. (Fly Obama fly.)…
Yeah.. I really DO think it’d be neat to own a Myna.. Teach it stuff… Mebbe even flip the bird the bird..
Happy Tuesday… I do hereby promise to never again write a blog upon return from Happy Hour. Faithfully yours, VicBird.
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