25 April 2011

Whack. Whack. Whack. (The Poem)

Sunday began shortly after dawn,
Just as the rest of the weekend had.




Everybody else gets the fucking Easter Bunny.

I get the Headbanging Robin.


paul said...

What about a couple of pieces of masking tape, or band aids, on the window, as a visual clue? I'm feeling bad for this bird, as one who sometimes repeatedly flies into hard surfaces. And the noise must be annoying.

Mr. Beer N. Hockey said...

I would feel bad for the robin too except his headbanging, once done with, seems to help him get the best juicy red worms in my lawn and quickly. Straight from the headbanging to the grub. Like a dopesmoking hardcore rocker.

I feel bad about the bird, having saved several through the years (usually in fall when they are getting drunk on varius rotting berries). They have been put in a shoebox with a Tweety bird and a some worms to keep them company. These are not the usual repetitive headbangers. One good clunk on the head usually does it for them. They have all survived to do whatever banged up headbanging birds do.

As an old headbanger myself, still do it a little when the mood inspires, I too am concerned about my bird with my favourite bird song. I am thinking of namimg him Ignatieff - the Headbanging Old Buzzard with the red breast.

We put stuff on the window to warn him - "Window Ahead!" but he just says, "Fuck you Beer, and your dog too. I was born to be a headbanger just like Suzy."