Yet another parrot

{click title to read entire post}


[Note from Richard–Thanks to TMC for filling in for me while I try to master the remaining songs from the book and get them uploaded. Of course, he has his own peculiar view of me and everything else.  Somewhere between dark and pitch black, I think.}


POW (proprietor of website), realizing that he has added little of interest to this dreary blog of his for an unseemly long period of time, has asked me if I would write some small amusement to entertain his many fan. (No, an ess is not needed at the end of the previous sentence.)  He mumbled something about being busy getting his silly little book published and recording the songs for it.


Let me apologize to those who have suffered through or have yet to suffer through that caterwauling in the songs section of this blog.  Apparently, POW couldn’t find a blackboard to drag his fingernails across. I suppose there are some minor bits of entertainment to be found in the songs, but to quote Professor Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady “Heavens, what a noise!”  Someone go castrate a few choir boys for me so they won’t grow up to abuse the lower registers the way this Pavarotten does.

Well, having been put on the proverbial spot, I decided to tell one of my favorite jokes, an actual funny joke for a change.  This joke is not original with me, nor with POW, who doubtlessly stole it from some more talented purveyor of humor.

It’s a joke about a parrot. There are lots of jokes about parrots.  For the life of me I can’t see why. Sure they talk.  But an ass talked in the Bible and no one makes jokes about him. The snake?  Nothing funny there either.  Even POW attempted a parrot joke in the previous  post.  Dummy!  His parrots didn’t even talk, so what’s his excuse?

A parrot is a bird.  They make great video stars, sure. But other than looking pretty, birds are the nastiest animals on the planet that use two or four legs. (In the two-leg department, I would say human beings give them quite a run for their money.  Those with six, eight, or zero legs are another matter altogether.)

My sister has a parrot.  Fortunately she has better judgment in husbands.  The darn things live something like 330 years.  That’s not a pet, that’s an heirloom.  One that squawks and poops!

Okay, for those who can still laugh after all that, here’s the joke.

A guy named Flub bought a parrot {editorial comment: whatever he paid was far too much.}  He brought the creature home, set it up with a nice cage, perch, water bottle, shredded packing for a floor, a mirror to look at while he preened his nasty little feathers.

Things went fine at first, but before long this avian nightmare began squawking and cussing nonstop, using some of the foulest language that his owner had ever heard, and using it over and over and over.

Flub tried feeding it the finest bird seed.  He tried playing soothing music, playing grand symphonies, playing heavy metal, hip hop, classic rock, oldies, and anything else he had in his collection.  Nothing worked. He tried covering the windows, putting a cover on the cage, letting the sunshine in, opening the window for fresh air, and even letting his cat in the room to scare the feathered monster into silence.  Still nothing worked.  The bird kept screaming and cussing at levels that came just short of spurring the neighbors to drop a hand grenade on the house.

Finally Flub could stand no more.  He flung open the door of the cage, grabbed the miserable bird by its scruffy neck, walked over to his freezer, threw the creature in and slammed the door.

The bird’s squawking and cussing got even more rabid for a minute or two.  Then suddenly, there was complete silence.  Flub waited a couple of minutes.  Still, complete silence.  “Oh my Lord,” thought Flub, “I’ve killed my bird.”

He ran to the freezer and opened the lid.  The bird got out and perched on the edge.  “Sir,” said the parrot in a moderate and reasonable tone of voice, “I am so sorry.  I don’t know what got into me, carrying on like that.  Sir, I promise, from this day forward, if you give me a second chance, that I will never, ever behave in such an atrocious manner again.”

Flub was unsure what this was about but he hesitantly said “Okay, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Sir,” began the parrot again “may I ask you one question?”

“Well, I guess so, go ahead.”

“What in heaven’s name did the chicken do?”

There it is then.  I hope that brightened your day a bit.  No, I take that back.  I don’t care whether it did or not.



Like this?  Why not try the book My Brain Has A Mind Of Its Own





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