Birds Would Be Funnier If Fatter
by Matt Finley

What do Edgar Alan Poe, Alfred Hitchcock, and Mr. Snuffalufagus all have in common (besides the obvious Nixon connection)? Oh, and it's not the cocaine thing either. And the hooker thing counts as a subdivision of the Nixon thing. And it has nothing to do with the soviets.

Okay. Fuck it. It's birds.

I was gellin' at the park the other day, wearing a poncho and pretending that I was Tor-Nak, Queen of the Birds, when I surveyed my subjects and realized that they're all relatively thin. Sure, there are some fat pigeons. But none that are slobbering around in a pool of creamer, sucking on the blubber chunks that roll up into their mouths when they exhale fat. I want befeathered gravy-bleeding manatees that chirp like a climaxing James Earl Jones. Instead, I get chickadees, the avian equivalent of Warwick Davis.

Science tells us that a bird's high metabolism is what keeps it looking relatively svelte. Science also tells us that there's a hole in the "O-Zone" "Layer" and that crack is whack and that the Earth has an "O-Zone" "Layer." If I listened to science, I'd be wearing a bio-hazard suit every time I went air-guitaring in the Uranium mines. But then I wouldn't get cool nicknames like Moe Glow or Sterility. I'd be Suit Guy or Guy Who Went Into Elliot's House and Fucked Around with E.T. at the End of the Movie "E.T." When E.T. Gets All Sick and Turns the Color Of a Necco Wafer.

Needless to say, I want to create a fat bird. A bird so fat that it is not only unable to fly, but is, for all intensive purposes, completely immobile. I want to name this bird Big Papa Sloppy and dress it in a variety of hats. Hats for all occasions: pirate hats, cowboy hats, police hats, top hats, and maybe, like, some kind of head-shaped novelty hat so when you looked at him you would initially mistake the hat for his head and his actual head for some kind of head-shaped novelty scarf. On Thursdays he would wear a leprechaun hat.

I want to place Big Papa in front of backgrounds that correspond to the hats with captions that correspond to the backgrounds.

One large and lonely Monday could find Papa Sloppy poised (although technically his diameter will prevent him from ever actually "poising" in any literal sense) in front of an Old West motif, decked out in the aforementioned cowboy hat and a twinkling Sheriff's badge. The caption could read, "Yee-Haw, Sheriff Sloppy is a fatty bird. Whoah Nelly!" Or maybe the pirate regalia would suit Papa better: "Avast there Matey, Captain Sloppy is a fatty bird, Ahoy!"And don't forget leprechaun Thursdays: "Papa O'Sloppy is a fatty bird, Ahoy!"

People tell me that to attempt this without "accidentally" "murdering" Papa would be an exercise in futility. However, I know for a fact that, on at least five separate occasions, similar circumstances were imposed upon Mr. Marlon Brando who was fed éclair filling and half-and-half for seven weeks before being photographed in a baseball cap eating Lunchables out of a trough.

Then he made "The Island of Dr. Moreau."

What other evidence do you require?! Take the lid off the Crisco and the canary out of the cage ... now combine them ... no, the other way, so that the Crisco's in the canary. EWWW. No, by way of its mouth, you Squeed.

It's a Fatty Bird Revolution! AHOY!

*sigh* I love that kid