Yesterday, there were 2 pigeons in the road.
Anyway, I proceeded toward the 2 pigeons mentioned above at a rate of 35 MPH and ran them both right the fuck over. The reactions of my 2 children nicely displays the gap between the Nietzschean and Christian visions of the world.
LUCY NIETZSCHE: COOL!
JACKSON CHRIST: Holy Crap you just killed 2 birds! [face contorts and squeezes out a single tear that trickles down his cheek]
Lucy felt a surge of power resulting from the destruction of the pigeons coupled with her own survival, and Jackson identified with the victims and nearly drowned in pity. I had a crazy reaction where I couldn’t pull the word “pigeon” out of the world of signifiers.
BLACK HOCKEY JESUS: Holy Crap I just totally ran over 2… [pause]… [groping]... [longer pause]… quaaaaaaail? [I drew it out like that too. I knew they weren’t quail and I guess I thought if I drew the word out long enough, the right word would appear and insert itself. It didn’t. I am starting to forget words & shit. It’s crazy.]
JACKSON: Those weren’t quail. Those were pigeons. Why’d you run over those innocent pigeons?
LUCY (beyond good & evil): HA HA HA! Daddy killed bwirds.
Last night I tossed & turned in bed as I mourned those moronic birds. What the hell were they thinking? There’s always a bunch of flipping birds in the street. It’s like they’re playing chicken with cars or something, but they always win. Not these 2—they just stared at their approaching fate as if they had made a suicide pact. One of them was singing some Lou Reed tune. They never even tried to fly away. I was wavering on the shore between consciousness and dream when The Ghost Of Dead Skip appeared bearing a pigeon on each shoulder. O he was a majestic apparition. The birds on his shoulders provided him with an awesome sense of authority like some Greek God or that chick with the Scales of Justice or what have you.
GHOST OF DEAD SKIP: What reason have you for sending 2 innocent birds into the ghostly regions? Speak Black Hockey Jesus.
BLACK HOCKEY JESUS: Dude I was just driving. It was bird suicide.
DEAD BIRD #1: My soul. Want… my… soul.
DEAD BIRD #2: SOULLLLLLLLLL!
JENNA: A word in the sand. [lip smack smack smack]
BHJ: WTF Ghost Of Dead Skip?!?
GODS: These pigeons hold that you stole their souls by taking their picture. It was a common belief among primitive people that photographs rob people of their souls. Pigeons believe that shit too.
JENNA: Surf blue in the mush. [lip smack smack smack]
BHJ: Are you honestly telling me that I killed the same birds I took a picture of last week? What are the chances? Isn’t that like a Godcidence or something?
GODS: They demand the return of their souls at once.
BHJ: Or else what? They’re just a couple dead soulless pigeons.
GODS: You make a good point, Black Hockey Jesus. Goodnight.
BHJ: Goodnight, Ghost Of Dead Skip.