Crazy, crazy birds.

I went to Ben's house yesterday and parked my car under a tree, which I found out later was a tree that birds use as a toilet... crap! Literally!

My car was dotted with little white splatters of bird poop, and I think the tree also decided to get in on the act by dropping its nuts and whatever else was hanging on the tree, onto the roof, bonnet, and back of my car.

To make things worse, the little white bullets of evil that came out of those birds that hit my car's sides, dripped all the way down, e.g. on the doors. Oh please have mercy!

I should have known something was up when, as I parked and started walking away from my car, some guy standing in the other yard was smirking at me. I thought it was just because I smelled funny. Or maybe because my fly was undone (that happens often too, forgetful silly me), but I didn't feel a breeze, so it mustn't have been that.

He should have warned me! My poor car! If you poop on my car you might as well poop on my head! But then again I'd already been pooped on the head several times before. I'm just a target I know... Perhaps I offended some bird when I was younger, ate too much eggs or something a rather, and the word's just spread around.

The most memorable target practise session for the birds happened when the city of Melbourne was still young. Federation Square was not in existence, train tickets had holes punched in them, Flinders St had a Hungry Jacks inside it, and I was still in grade 4. And while on the way of being shown the arcade gaming venues by my then high-school aged cousin (Street Fighter was the bomb back then), this was the time the winged beasts decided to strike with accuracy that was comparable with anti-terrorist snipers waiting in the shadows.

But shadows were not to be seen during this moment; it was noon and everything was illuminated – out in the open. It was their day. And not mine.

I bopped along Swanston St, taking in at all the new sights and sounds that a 9 year-olds find interesting - the many clocks at the train station, the beeping and clicking of traffic lights and crossings, a few scraggly looking guys sitting in front of the shops. I might have been walking slowly or fast, I can't recall. But as I passed the first bank ATMs as I walked away from the station, I felt something that I had never felt before.

Something landed right in the middle of my head. As in RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF MY HEAD. So perfectly did it land, that there were no drips, no spills, that as I walked another few metres, my brain failed to register that there was foreign material just above it.

"What was this cold, viscous, jelly like thing...?” I thought to myself. Because my cousin was older and taller, I was sure he'd know.

I tugged his shirt.

"Is there something on my head?" I asked.
"Heh. Oh. Hmm... What the?"
"On my head what is it?"

There was a feeling of impossibility. I remember looking up and seeing a roof and some cover over the footpath, and my cousin probably remembered that too. How could this be? Why is there bird turd on my head? Could a bird actually bend it like Beckham?

"You got shat on by a bird." He replied
"What's a 'shat'?"

We walked into the nearest fast food store that had plenty of free napkins/serviettes, and the evidence was removed. The day continued on as normal, but that incident is something that will be etched in my mind forever. Ah those birds... crazy, crazy birds...

So if you see my climbing a tree trying to get revenge, please don't be surprised. A little boost helping me up the branches would be much appreciated though :)