MAD Pigeon Respect

Here we interrrupt the ultraexciting death sentence of reading the 43-paged proposal of Psychoanalysis by Freud (on my end, not yours) to give some clarifications on what makes a pigeon a badass. 

Wait. Strange choice in adjective. 

Chub-glubber?

No no, that’s not a real word.

Upstanding moral citizen?

Not quite. 

Luficer’s handmaiden?

Hmm, a bit too far right.

Let’s just let pigeons be themselves. The phrase “to pigeonhole” exists for a reason; they really are sensitive concerning objectification. 

Number one concerning my defense of pigeon-kind: they suck way less than crows. 

Crows are freaking horrendous. They come at you with mighty flapping scraggly wings of black torment, ready to begin picking your skin off your flailing body premature to your imminent death. 

I know crows are intelligent, they contribute to life, they can read and write, and to some of you whoozits, they are cute. Which is why this post is not titled “Why Crows Suck”, because they don’t. They just suck more than pigeons.

Pigeons appeal to the portion of my being that constantly shrieks at my conscious to stroke something shiny. 

Pigeons put the “lol” in “hello” as they bobble around with their tiny heads definitely doing the steering. 

Pigeons don’t have any set stride-length or pace, which I find to be appropriately analogous to my own brain functioning. 

As I write this, I just witnessed a pigeon speed up, slow down, speed up again, abruptly stop, turn around in three full circles and then speed off in another direction. 

If that isn’t directly metaphorical to how I write research papers, I don’t know what is. 


World’s Oldest Pigeon (left)

One can do anything one likes around a pigeon. They don’t give a shit about your strange fetishes and habits as a human being. Well, literally, yes they do. And constantly. But metaphorically, no. I’ve been leaning against this massive, thickly foliaged tree reading materials that contain words like “penis-envy” for the last hour or so, and I have already drunken an entire liter of coconut water. 

And yet my pigeon buddies don’t bat an eye. 

Do pigeons have eyelids? 

Instead, they keep me company, pretending to be cats and purring in irregular strokes of gutteral release. Goodness, there’s something about watching pigeons that makes me want to pack up my socks and shoes and go watch Goodfellas.

There’s also something enormously satisfying about watching a lumbering oversized yellow lab barreling towards a group of clustered pigeons and scattering them all. I know you know what I mean here. 

Plus, people love them. If they didn’t, why would photographs like this exist, huh? Explain that:

And pigeons inspire art like this beauty on imgur from paulfkwalsh:

If you would take a glance back at the title of this post, you might recollect an initial, subconscious thought that the “MAD” of “MAD Pigeon Respect” stood for some sort of ultraexciting acronym, and what could it be, and how will it be developed, and how exciting! 

And if you weren’t thinking those things, don’t feel guilty; but please do take the next few days to sharpen your subconscious skills. 

The truth of the matter is that my snazzy I-accidentally-bought-a-German keyboard (significant difference) autocorrected Mad to MAD and then me and my multiple personalities just went with it in hopes that your subconscious skills were up to par. Don’t feel bad, but do be more observant. 

Maybe today take the time to thank your local pigeon. 

Peace and Blessings,

Josie 

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