Things You Should Know About Me: Mockingbirds

I hate mockingbirds. I don't why, but my neighborhood is positively lousy with them. I'd never even seen one in person until I moved into my current house. Everywhere I go, there'll be a mockingbird, sitting in a tree singing away like an idiot.

I'm sure there are a lot of people out there who enjoy mockingbirds and their songs. Some are probably even impressed by their talent; that such a simple creature could so accurately mimic the calls of dozens of other bird species. These people are idiots. Mockingbirds are not talented. They're the plagiarists of the bird world. If they're so bleedin' talented, then why don't they sing their own compositions?

Nor are they pleasant to listen to. They are a plague and a pestilence, and an assault against the senses. Mockingbirds are the avian equivalent of a toddler who's trying to get your attention by saying, "Hey, hey, hey, hey, HEY, HEY, hey, HEY, HEY, HEY!!!!!" over and over and over until you walk out to the garage, open your toolbox and thrust Philips head screwdrivers deep into both ears.

There are thousands of other kinds of birds chirping away in my neighborhood, but for some reason they don't bother me. Perhaps because all the other birds sing in a regular and predictable pattern, which fades into the background after a while? Mockingbirds are constantly changing up their songs, going through their little sets like a bad stand-up comedian, so it's impossible to ignore them.

Also, every other species of bird in the world has the good sense to clam up and sit quietly once the sun goes down and darkness falls. Not our friend the mockingbird. Day or night, 2 pm or 2 am, doesn't matter. The mockingbird will be loudly - VERY loudly - imitating its brethren all night long, right outside my bedroom window. I'm hopeful the neighbors were all asleep when I was out in the front yard in my underwear at 2 am, throwing rocks at a miserable singing mockingbird in a tree.

Atticus Finch may think it's a sin to kill a mockingbird, but what does he know? He's not even real. The fact that I don't own a gun and my fear of incarceration are the only reasons I don't blow the heads off of every one of these miserable wretches that I see.