I have a few journalist friends. I idolize them all. They're doing or have done what I've never had the talent, focus, direction, aptitude and drive to do. What draws me to it? It's the mass mind fucking one can do. I present to you exhibit A. I saw the above right headline on ninemsn.com today.
Words have not and will not ever be created to fully capture just how disappointed I was when I read on to find it wasn't a real bird with a girlfriend. When I read the title, I immediately went into Shangatopia and visualised all sorts of typical scenarios containing a boyfriend and girlfriend, with the boyfriend being a parrot, parakeet or budgie. But not a toucan, those things are just creepy.
Words have not and will not ever be created to fully capture just how disappointed I was when I read on to find it wasn't a real bird with a girlfriend. When I read the title, I immediately went into Shangatopia and visualised all sorts of typical scenarios containing a boyfriend and girlfriend, with the boyfriend being a parrot, parakeet or budgie. But not a toucan, those things are just creepy.
"What's should we do for tea sexy?"
"sqaaaaawk!"
"oh hun, sunflower seeds again? we had that last night"
"sqaaaaaaaaaaaawk!"
"don't you raise your tiny little talon at me!"
"sqaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawk!"
And despite their bickering, they move in together. Into his place. And man does she have a hard time sleeping on the perch.
Oh, it was Greg Bird, Rugby League player. Just because you have the brain of a bird doesn't mean you are one.
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