Depressed Pigeon Misses Shitting on People

Funny story written by Reggie "Rex" Stain

Tuesday, 28 April 2020

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(New York, New York) Cher Ami, an ordinary New York City pigeon named after the famous British homing pigeon, is suffering from extreme depression and downright anger now that the city has entered its sixth week of lockdown. We caught up with Cher on an upper ledge of the Empire State Building overlooking the East River, and through the miracle of a non-public pre-release beta iteration of the famous language-learning software “Babble,” conducted this interview. True.

Reggie “Rex” Stain (“Reg,” because even a nickname that has a nickname needs another nickname): “Hello Cher, thank you for taking the time out of your busy day to talk to us.”

Cher: “Busy, or what? Do yuh see me sittin' here on my haunches vacantly starin' out ovuh de east rivuh? What de hell does dat tell yuh, dat I have somethin' bettuh tuh do, or what?”

Reg: “Sorry, I heard you were depressed, would you kindly tell our readers why?”

Cher: “First off, yuh know why yuh are here, what, your mudder some kind of doawh knob or somethin', yuh know, everyone gets a turn. Okay? I'm here becawze of dis fuckin' bat flu dat came from de damned immigrants. De streets are empty now. Yuh got me so fahr? Vacant. Right? I cannot do what I was bawhn tuh do, droppin’ bueno guano!”

Reg: “Sorry to ruffle your feathers, what would you be doing if the pandemic never happened?”

Cher: “See, nights I’d be down at de Kiki Ballroom, wher yuh tink a pige name Cher wud be, huh? I’d be droppin' a goo or two on de bean flickers, rice queens, and sausage jockeys hangin' around and lined up tuh get into dat velveteen muffin hole. Okay? Durin' de day, I'd be down at Washington Square, pickin' up nibbles from de mindless tourists, and droppin' a squirt on deir heads just as dey take de selfie.”

Reg: “Gosh, and now, since everyone is in lockdown, there are no people to shit on, yes?”

Cher: “What, yuh some kind of stoopid or what, or what? Of cawhse dat is what has me depressed. Yuh got me so fahr? Now I just sit here and wait fawh de stray car thief or ambulance drivuh tuh harass, like I used tuh harass your mudder.”

Rex: “Thanks, but my mother passed away last week from the Coronavirus. What do you have to look forward to, then?”

Cher: “Good ting I gots tah Schtupp huh one last time. Yuh with me? Look, dat yellow ass wipe yuh retards put in charge, we had a good ting goin' years ago, what wit' his makin' home alone wit' dat pigeon lady and all. Yuh with me? Dat was respect. Right? I hope he gits people back tuh wawhkin', so dey fill de streets again, so I can eat and shit on dem like befawh dis rona ‘demic. Okay?”

We left Cher on that lonely ledge as he scanned the streets below, hoping for an open bodega that would draw at least a couple of brave souls with bare heads, knowing he would instead have to settle for shitting on the statue of Christopher Columbus in Central Park. Again. Fitting, actually.

The funny story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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