An Open Letter to the Birds of the Jersey Shore
Dear feathered neighbors,
I used to like you. I used to think you were nothing but lovely. But now? Well, there's this pesky little thing you keep doing that REALLY needs to stop.
Contrary to popular belief, my car is not a toilet. Nor is a target that you are required to hit upon doing your business.
I'm sick of looking at this from this inside of my car:
Do I use your wings as a bathroom? No. Do I leave you little presents in your nests? No. Would you think of it as good luck if I were to void on your head? I think not.
You're ruining the paint on my car. There aren't many car washes still open by the time I get out of work, and it's not like I can leave during the day. Kinda have a little radio thing happening here.
I'd especially like to thank whichever one of you it was that went to Taco Bell for lunch yesterday. That was a great find on my way out of work yesterday. From the looks of things, the diet is not agreeing with you.
However, if I wanted a polka dotted car, I would have purchased one that way.
It's become clear to me that we are not friends. In fact, I am now considering us mortal enemies. I understand that we need to coexist on this planet. Perhaps you could just be more considerate of those around you.
The Person Sick of Cleaning Up After You