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I Hate Birds

Dear Diary

 
I think I’m officially at war. And I’m not even sure if this is a war that I have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning. I am at war with birds. Not one specific type of birds, but all of them. I’ve never really been a big fan of birds. They pretty much suck. If all birds in reality were like those lovely little fluffy things in Disney movies such as Snow White, I don’t think I’d have a problem.  But they’re not. They’re ugly and flea ridden.  If they just sat on your window sill as you washed the dishes, singing to you in a beautiful tone, and winking every now and then, I’d be ok. But they don’t. They squawk and stare at you with their beady eyes. The worst thing about birds, and I think it’s most awful at this time of year, is the gd mfing dive bombing that they do. Maybe it’s just me, but what the hell is the problem with those little bastards? And I’d probably have less of a problem with them if they didn’t attack the dogs, but I’ll just be chillin in the back garden with them and at any time, there are at least two winged demons falling out of the sky in a controlled spiral with my dogs in their sights and blood on their minds. GET OUT OF MY YARD, DAMN YOU! My dogs aren’t doing anyone any harm! They’re just trying to poo! So, watch out birds, I’ve got your number and honestly, one of these days I may purchase a super soaker and show you what’s up. STAY OUT OF MY YARD!

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