Birds, Birds, Birds!

(Notice proper usage of the City Pages-approved serial comma.)

There's this big gardening emporium located a couple of blocks from our house. They also sell live animals, a fact that simultaneously distresses and intrigues me. I can't resist stopping in from time to time to lock eyes with the inbred, quivering Chihuahuas. Then I commune with the tragic, molting cockatoo with the rheumy stare. I even like to visit the snakes. I stand in front of the terrarium glass and hiss "HARRY POTTER ISSSSSS A HOMOSSSSSSSSEXUAL. THAT'S WHY HE RIDESSSS A HORSSSE NAKED!" And they totally understand me.

Recently, we were driving past this particular store and I noticed the window said "BIRDS! BIRDS! BIRDS!" As if it were an avian strip club or something. Of course, I was immediately reminded of a certain totally kickass '80s anthem by Motley Crue. So I started singing:

Birds, birds, birds!
Rockin' in Atlanta at Tattletails!
Birds, birds, birds!
Raisin' hell at the Seventh Veil!

I choked with laughter, because I find myself really hilarious. (I always "break," you see, even during my most sophisticated bits. I'm the Horatio Sanz of observational car comedy.)

Anyway, every time we've driven past this store since, Jonny and I do a bird-themed reenactment of Tommy and Vince's spirited conversation near the end of "Girls, Girls, Girls."

(Imagine sing-songy, hair-metal dude voices)

Jonny: "Hey Tommy! Check that out, man!"

Me: "What, Vince? Where?"

Jonny: "In the cage! That's a Red-Bellied Grackle! They aren't often seen in the Western Hem-is-phere!"

Me: "WHOOOO! Save some for me! Hey, I think I see its genitalia!"

Like I said, I find this really funny. Anyway.