by Michael W. Ollinger

So I was sitting outside this morning, enjoying the cool air and warm sun dance on my face and cheeks. I was about to pull out a a little book and read for a wee bit. Then, all of a sudden, a pigeon landed nearby me, and he asked me a light. Of course, I didn’t have a lighter or any matches, so away the pigeon stormed, leaving me to dwell in my newly formed valley of confusion and befuddlement. I sat there, trying to focus on the words in my book, but with a overarching cloud of disarray hovering above me. Moments later, the pigeon came back smoking his cigarette. “Thanks for nothing,” he said, and with that he cooed. Not a friendly “hello” coo, but a “you better get the heck out of here before I go medieval on your ass” coo. I learned this in hindsight, unfortunately. After his “wrath of God” coo, which I mistook for a “can I get a Cheet-o, buddy?” coo, the sky filled with gray. I looked up just in time to see a tempest of pigeons. Suffice to say, pigeons and I aren’t really on the best of terms anymore.

So I have received a few messages on the seamy nature of my past few posts, and I will admit they were in bad taste. I will have you know, however, that yesterday’s lurid tale of a goat, his lover, and his semen came from the mouth of Hollywood heartthrob, and current star of The Wedding Planner, Matthew McConoughey. Not me. But onto today’s brief tale of confusion…