Storytime: The Word of Gull

July 12th, 2017



Fine. If that’s the way it’s gonna be.

Aiiii-YIIIK, Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-YIIK, AWK AWK AWK AWK

There! That always did get your attention! Now, pay attention – and don’t look so surprised! We all grow to fit our habitats. You fat little apes covered half the world in garbage dumps, and what thrives better there than me? Raccons? Possums? Rats? Cockroaches. Don’t make me laugh, they’ve got no ambition – noses in the dirt, in the dark, under the radar. For me and mine the SKY is our limit, and with your fucked-up-foods as fuel, I’m gonna go past it.
Don’t make me laugh with your guns and your pleas and your bargains. You aren’t here to talk or fight, you’re here to listen. And if anyone tries otherwise, I’ll peck their eye out.
Now, here are my commandments.

Thou Shalt Give of the Potato
I want you ploughing every suburb and house in Idaho into fields by Friday. And I want all those suckers harvested, cleaned, cut, sliced, deep-fried, and on every picnic table beach and dock in the world by Monday or I’ll starting julienning you, which’ll be pretty fun with a beak this size, let me tell you. It’s finicky work, so save us all a lot of trouble and do as you’re fucking told, got it?
And give me ketchup.
Give me buckets of tomatoes. Give me gallons of sugar – cane, refined, fuck it, MAPLE for all I care – just give me it fast and hard and furious and syrupy-thick. I want it all and I want it all over the fries. No dipping, you dips. We’re not doing this for seasoning, we’re in it for lubrication.
Oh, and if you’re short on the salt I’ll split you with a single peck.

Thou Shalt Surrender Thy Car
I want every vehicle outdoors, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, every year, forever and ever, aaaaaaaaaamen. You hear me? You’d better hear me. Because I don’t want to have to repeat myself. I want a good, clear target with a fresh scrub on it. I want to see that metal gleaming up until the very second that my guano impacts. And believe me, it’ll impact. Full-out. Burnish the dents out too or you’ll hear from me.
And if you put an umbrella over that car, if you park that car under an awing, if you obstruct, for one SPLIT SECOND, the sleek shining surface of that vehicle, with branch, roof, hand or prayer, the shit’s coming down on YOU instead.

Thou Shalt Be Seen And Not Heard
I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard my younger brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts and cousins complain of the time they were on a beach, screaming Aiiiiii-YIIK, Aiii-YIIK, AWK AWK AWK AWK and some runt of an ape’s offspring came gibbering at them and chased them off mid-holler. That stops today. That stops yesterday, actually, when I went down to the lake and ate every single noisy little fuck I saw. Let’s get this straight: those beaches are not for your benefit. They’re our business now. Come quietly, bring fries as an offering, and if you REALLY have to swim for life-or-death reasons expect to get shit on and take it calmly. Anyone screams, they stay behind.

Thou Shalt Respect The Shit
This one’s simple enough. Yes, even simple enough for you. ALL of you, no matter how dense.
See this? Smell that? Know what that is? It’s the mark of authority, you gibbering wannabe-brachiator. And if you see it, you step aside. Your docks? They’re ours now. So are your boats. And your picnic tables. Never touch them again or you lose your hands your arms and your torsos in exactly that order. Are you still paying attention, pudge-apes? You’d better be, because this is important. We live there. We shit there. And where we shit you’d better not fucking tread AM I CLEAR ON THIS?
Oh and if one of us shits on you, you’re theirs for life.

Look Down
It’s more fun when you’re not expecting it.

Right? Right. If any of you mess this up I’m coming back tomorrow to eat Toronto.

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