The Worlds Smartest Sparrow
I am severly allergic to most types of grass, weeds and come to think of it, just about any sort of plant that produces any sort of blossom or pollen (i.e. I'm allergic to just about everything). Ever since the family discovered this bit of information some 15 years ago, I have ALWAYS had a cop-out that prevents me from mowing lawns, triming hedges and whacking weeds.
This particular excuse does not extend to helping the family fix the mechanical devices that are used to do such yard work. With this in mind, I found myself passing various tools to the father unit, while helping hold and adjust various bits of my sisters broken lawnmower. The same lawnmower that has had something go wrong with it the past five (5) times that she had used it.
One of the more comical adventures in broken lawn technology involved yours truly attempting to help start the mower after it unceromiously died half-way through the sister mowing the front yard. Personally, I had been indulging in the smoking of a certain type of grass, that I am not only unallergic to, but that doesn't require me to cut down in the back yard (although that would be yard work I would actually enjoy). Needless to say my mental state of mind was not on the same page as one that would be doing yard work or any sort of phsycial activity. Inspite of this fact, I rose to the occasion to assist the sister unit and found myself vigoursly pulling on the chord that starts the spinning blade contraption into motion. Furiously I worked over this machine, pulling time and time again in an increasingly vain attempt to bring it back to life. Suddenly, without warning the chord snapped, sucked back into the body of the beast and because I was in the midst of yet another backwards tug, the loss of resistance caused me to unceremoniously punch myself in the face.
I stood there for a good number of seconds staring stupidly at my the piece of detached plastic in my hand as my brain raced (well sort of) to comprehend why one of it's limbs had revolted and resorted to self-inflicting masacistic wounds upon itself. Just before the sister unit broke into side splitting laughter, I handed her the now broken off piece of machinery and stated rather mattter of factly, "looks like you're done with your yard work for tonight", before shuffling back in the house.
This evil piece of machinery is the very same that I now found myself battling with my MacGuvyer like father to attempt to fix for the umpteenth time. We were sitting on my sisters car-port, attempting to finagle the mechanical mishcief maker back into working order when the car port lighting device suddnely expelled forth it's bulb that shattered a couple of feet from my father and I. Pausing in our battle with the evil lawn-type-mower and with perplexed looks of confusion plastered upon our features, the father unit and I shuffled over to investigate.
And what you may ask, dearest of diaries, was the cause of the light bulb suddenly flying from it's socket?
Some unkown telekentic forces?
A disturbed poltergeist hell bent on revenge?
Or maybe even the soul of the now dead lawn mowing device rusting in pieces at our feet?
My father poked the now present bird nest as I peered into the hole in the back, the four inch long sparrow occuptying it leapt from it and shot past my head chittering into a near by tree. Seeing as how the nest was occupied, we decided to leave the little beastie to it's own accord. Shrugging off the incident we once again re-enaged the lawn mower of doom.
But right before my father left for the night, he did bring up a question that is yet to be answered and has left my over-worked brain a little on the cluster fucked side: How in the hell did the bird unscrew the light bulb?
I mean really now, the light bulb is nearly as big as the bird itself and the frickin thing has no opposable digits to work with.
It seems, dearest of diaries, I have encountered the worlds smartest sparrow or maybe even the avian equivalent of David Blaine.
And in case you were wondering, ceremonies will be held for my sister lawnmower this weekend in our back alley as even my mechanically inclined father has declared the piece of shit, D.O.A.
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