Hi. It’s me, your pet parakeet. It’s come to my attention that you’ve been trying to find out why I won’t eat your diarrhea
I’m a parakeeet, so I’m not normally one to be bold. But, seeing that this scenario will inevitably lead to me eating
your shit (or at least to you presenting your cleverly disguised shit to me as you troubleshoot your way to an answer), I thought it necessary to be proactive about this. I’ve come up with three relatively common-sense reasons why I won’t eat your diarrhea:
1. Your Diet
As a parakeeet, I’m not one to criticize the dietary tendencies of others. I subsist mainly on nuts, seeds, and maybe the occasional bug or berry. It’s hardly a diet that can be considered savory, but it’s pretty much all my gastrointestinal tract will allow. You, on the other hand, have a wealth of options when it comes to food. You, in your infinite dumbassedness
, choose to limit yourself to a strick diet of Hot Pockets, Sour Patch Kids and Dr. Pepper.
This combination of food items, when ingested exclusively and over a period of time, does not make for the most enticing of shits. Shit, by it’s nature, is not enticing, but a shit comprised solely of this combination of food stuffs is downright atrocious, even compared to an average human shit. That’s probably the reason why you have so much f*cking diarrhea all the time. There’s also a good chance that you may be lactose intollerant
, which makes the excessive amounts of less-than-savory cheese product in those pepperoni hot pockets more than unsuitable for your morbidly obese body. Please don’t misunderstand me here: if you ate only the most elegant caviar and filet minon on a nightly basis, I still wouldn’t be driven to eat your diarrhea, but your particular choice of diet is not helping your cause (or your gut) one bit.
2. Your Presentation
Did you ever notice that the automobiles on a car commercials are always clean, shiny, and absolutely pristine? That’s because presentation is a huge part of selling a product. Everytime you drop a bowl of your nasty-ass diarrhea into my parakeet cage, you’re essentially trying to sell that diarrhea to me as a meal. This shouldn’t be too difficult, because I’m a parakeet, and my brain is roughly the size of a grasshopper’s balls. All I’m saying is that maybe the next time you try to pass off your diarrhea as bird food, you shouldn’t have three of your friends standing across the room giggling and dry-heaving. Also, tell your stoner friend Zane not to say things like, "I think he’s really gonna eat your shit this time!" over and over, because that just raises my suspicions. As a parakeet, I’m extremely paranoid by nature, and people like your dildofaced friend Zane just send me overboard.
3. I’m Not Quite Ready To Die Yet
I’m just going to go out on a limb here (bird pun intended) and assume that you know that eating your diarrhea will kill me pretty quickly. That’s because it’s watery shit, and I’m not supposed to eat that. So basically you’re trying to kill me for your own amusement. I am fully aware of this. I’m also aware that living in a f*cking cage in your shitty, nasty f*cking livingroom sucks balls. Eventually, I’m going to want to die. When I get to that point, there’s a good chance that I might choose to do so by humoring you and eating your diarrhea. Right now, though, I’ve got other plans. I’m not ready to give up yet, because I’m still trying to get the f*ck out of here. Do you think I enjoy living in a cage and shitting on newspaper all the time? No! I’d much rather be flying around outside, f*cking a whole bunch of other hot escaped parakeets and shitting all over your Nissan Sentra.
I figure it this way: the more I tolerate you opening my cage to slip a bowl of liquid shit inside, the better the chances are that I’ll be getting the f*ck out of here, because you’re a complete idiot. You have to open the window because your diarrhea reeks like hell, and you have to open the cage door to get the diarrhea inside in the first place. I have no idea how long I’ll be able to tolerate this miserable existence, but I know that I’m not ready to give up the chance of freedom just yet. Also, thanks for being a poor f*cking bastard and not having the $5 to get my wings clipped when you bought me from Petco
. Otherwise, I would’ve hung myself from this damn birdseed bell thing a long time ago.
In closing, I’m a bird, not a retarded goldfish or a f*cking epileptic gerbil or something. I know what shit smells like, and I don’t like it. I’m never going to eat your diarrhea, and if I do at some point, it’s solely as an act of suicide because I hate your f*cking guts.