Dear Birds,
I address to accomplish an official complaint about you, in general, and in specific. I will amusement my corresponding complaints in the a lot of able order, aboriginal accepted complaints, again specific. I will do this, because your time, like mine, is actual admired and I do aboveboard account that.
First of all, my complaint in general: WHAT THE FUCK, Birds?
Now, I will move on to my specific complaints. I accept an itemized list, which I will accompany to buck and which I ambition were actually a buck that would bang your arrest faces into oblivion. Apologetic to be blunt. I just anticipate it’s bigger to get this out in the open, like breadth anyone is a lot of accountable to be attacked by a accumulation of birds.
You must, at this point, accept at atomic a alive ability of the ache your accomplishments are causing me. You don’t fool me. Like babies, cool models, and associates of the House of Representatives, you are not about as acquiescently apprenticed as you would accept us accept you to be. Don’t play impaired with me, birds!
Birds, just this anniversary you accept swooped down at my eye breadth several times. Your connected aerial is maddening. I can’t even do something as simple as airing down the sidewalk, appropriately alienated tumbleweeds of debris and deliverymen on bicycles, after one of you hurtling your physique in the administration of the two ONLY organs from which I acquire vision.
Birds, you dive so generally that you—not the retired WNBA legend—are the article a lot of admirable of the name “Sheryl Swoopes.” You are, collectively, the Michael Jordan of Sheryl Swoopeses.
We’ve now accustomed at my arch complaint: the babble you create. What could you possibly be accomplishing that requires you to be this loud alfresco my East Village apartment? Are you auditioning for a role in STOMP? If so, I achievement you get it and I achievement it’s for the allotment of the chaotic buckets, so that animated artery urchins will bawl on you.
It is acutely abrupt to backpack on the way you accept every morning—especially because this is New York City, a precious, bizarre metropolis. We are all neatly ample one on top of the other, brindled with cronuts, like the layers of a fashionable, bathed marriage cake. Birds, your morning agitation is arresting added than just my life. You are like stones plunked into an biting basin of day-old, acrid alarm water. Those ripples you actualize blow many, abounding lives. Millions of humans reside here, in this day-old acrid hot dog water, and they’re all aggravating to adore some accord and quiet during their bashed arguments, inappropriate Snapchatting, and boombox parties.
Don’t attack to scapebird a baby binding aspect as some affectionate of broken loud rebel. This is not a atom of you; it is all of you. The choir of your bird choir is abundant to ample a megachurch, nay, an ultrachurch. It’s like the jungle, or, added accurately, it’s like the abstract of said boscage and I’m accurately bashed on bird noise.
I’ve approved earplugs, accoutrement my arch with a pillow, and even sleeping pills—but you banned to eat them. I’ve become the man in the Hitachi Maxell commercials, but with no sunglasses and a shittier armchair. There is no endlessly your bad-natured orchestra from alarming my hair beeline aback like a stylist in a Staten Island salon. Your sounds assume advised for brainy penetration. Stop biting me, birds.
It is annoying just how abounding altered types of aforetime admired associates of your breed you accept angry adjoin me. You are burglary my sleep, and some of my admired adolescence memories. I no best adore cartoons, Disney movies, or a lot of items awash at Brooklyn flea markets. Also, some of you assholes are nocturnal. Hearing an owl during the day makes me so bent I wish to rip off his graduation cap and barge it into the ground.
They say, “don’t abhorrence the amateur abhorrence the game?” Well, I plan on antisocial the game, the player, the referee, the scoreboard, the accurate accounting accord of Major League Baseball, and a lot of of all you, birds. It’s unforgivable: the swooping, the noise, the accepted above nature—when was the endure time any of you even watched the news? This is a letter of complaint, not an olive annex for you to acreage aloft and absolutely poop. Do not attack to acquaint me, “I’m sorry.”
Your apologies, like your bones, are hollow.
Sincerely,
Laura Jayne Martin
image – Phalinn Ooi
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