The Birds

Alas, Chelsea Owens’ Weekly Terrible Poetry contest is no more but rising from its ashes is the phoenix of the Weekly Hilarity Contest.

The first week’s challenge is:

  • Write a short story, poem, song, or really long sentence about Birds.
  • Don’t make it too long. We’ve got real life to get back to.
  • The goal is to make me, the judge LAUGH ALOUD. Whoever tickles my funny bone the best will be crowned champion.

 

My shop is called The Birds, partly because it’s unsettling Hitchcockian overtones amuse me but mostly because I only sell birds. Customers flock to my avianorium, where only the best of the nest will do, so that they can pin a feather in their cap and cock a snoot at less discerning buyers. One day, a preening peacock of the human variety entered my shop and looked down his not inconsiderable beak at various of my wing-ed wonders and trilled thus:

‘I had hoped to find feathered treasure but, alas, I feel let down. Nevertheless, I will take that vaguely presentable kookaburra to give my friends a laugh.’

‘$500, cage included.’

‘Oh, you are a hoot. $200 is my best and final offer.’

Taking my silence as lack of consent, he turned theatrically and made for the door, before pausing and turning.

‘One last chance to change your mind’

I gave him the bird.

9 thoughts on “The Birds

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