Splat!

Mrs. Piddlington and I went to New York this weekend, to visit my pal Smyres and see the Gates before they get torn down and recycled as Hari Krishna robes or whatever it is that’s gonna happen to them. But first I got crapped on by a pigeon, because that’s just the kind of thing that happens to me.

We were walking down Fifth Ave. in Park Slope, me and Smyres and Mrs. P, minding our own business, when a freaking pigeon dropped a deuce right on my tasteful and sorta pricey bright red winter coat. The poop was green, so it kind of looked like Christmas, with the green on the red and whatnot. And let me tell you something: I don’t know what was wrong with that pigeon, but I don’t think the poor bastard is long for this world. He had dysentary or something, because he got me good — three poop splotches on my coat and one on my purse. Which is also bright red, so yay.

I think I heard the fucker laughing as he flew away.

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