Dear Seagull

10 Jul

Dear Seagull,

Hey you! With the motley feathers on the top of your head. You look like your mama bred with a squirrel, maybe, and a rat somehow licked your egg and transferred some dirty DNA.

Look at that other seagull over there. As my favorite boyfriend G, pointed out, he probably flew over from Bremerton. He’s clean, and white and gray where he’s supposed to be, and in fact, he’s standing on top of a rock while you seem to be in some sort of uneven hole? And you, my friend, are pure Seattle. You’ve been bathing in tank oil and eating french fries from Ivar’s tourists forever.

Your left foot is all duck-footed– you’re a seagull, remember– and man those feathers on the top of your head are GROSS. They are about to wither and die while still on your body.

And in fact, your entire body is a kind of mottled (accurate and perfect in its connotation of ugly) grayblackwhite and maybegreen? Which cannot be natural. I’m telling you, that squirrel/rat combination did no good to your mother’s genes.

What the hell, seagull, you’ve taken from being a smallish vulture/overly large crow/flying raccoon/freegan (scavengers, people, they’re all scavengers) to being a searatquirrel, whose main weapon is UGLY.

I just really felt the need to express that.

All right, go on, waddle off and fly in a crooked line into the sunset,



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