poop everywhere

Stories about my family are going to take up at least 1/3 of my book.

My father is a grade A+ freak and so I love him more than anything. Lots of things my father has done explain a lot (GENETICS IS FUN). That and he might be part of the Brotherhood of the Crimson Nape (that is my new favorite JOKE!)

One time when I was in high school my father set up a card table in the middle of the highway and put a sign on it that said “GOLF BALLS $.75 EACH) just like a lemonade stand. Yes, in the middle of a highway. Also, this was near my high school so lots of people I knew saw it, and that is why they think he is a crazy man. Sometimes I have friends that actually tell stories about him at parties, that is how he became more popular than me at my college. Well, that and the time he came to visit me and paraded around campus with a mounted deer head and antlers, but that’s a whole ‘nother round of therapy to be discussed at some other time.

He also rants a lot about how there is no such thing as a “hip hop artist” but usually everyone just ignores him when he does that.

The Tale of the Birdshit and the Hero who Saved Us From It

Anyway, the main story here is that my parent’s house has a big tree right next to the driveway, and so the birds had a really amusing hobby of swooping down and sitting on the side mirrors in order to shit all over my parents cars. Which I always found funny, the cute little birdies and their evil squawking ways had their own birdie bathrooms on the Toyota, that was pretty smart of them. So my father first tied white rags to the side mirrors every night, so it looked like the family vehicles were part of some weird automobile faction of the KKK. And while this embarrassed my mother, she didn’t get too much in a huff about it because our neighbors were either French, or white trash with a big ugly RV and diseased dogs, and she didn’t much care what they thought anyways.

Then my dad bought a stuffed eagle, and set it on the top of my mom’s car. And this sucker was big, too, I mean it was a real stuffed eagle. He thought the eagle would be a good alpha bird and scare away all the little shitter birds. But then one morning my mom left for work and the bird was still on the roof, she forgot about it. So everyone saw her driving down the highway with a giant stuffed bird on top of her car, until it fell off. And Eddie the Eagle was never found again, although I’m thinking he’s probably right out in the ditch somewhere in front of our house, and he would match the aforementioned deerhead nicely if I ever got off my lazy ass and when looking for him.

When the rags and the fake eagle didn’t curtail the shit, my father came to the conclusion that the birds were sitting up in the old, regal oak tree and taking a dump from way up there and still managing to hit the cars. So the man did only what he could do: he chopped the damn tree down.

And that is one of the several times I almost became the child of a broken home.

The end.

PS Doesn’t Mat look cute in his pictures? Like a rockstar? Someone should put out.

PSS I have used three animal pictures in a row, that has to be some kind of record! Bestial WHOOOO!

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