I just don’t know what to do about that boy lately.
I knew the moment he hatched, he was going to be a rebellious one. Always talking about “green pig fascists” and the redistribution of golden stars. I didn’t think anything of it at first, of course, all fledglings go through that phase when they start wearing leather and talking about Che Guevarawk. But then he met those California Thrashers and started planning out tattoos. FACE tattoos! I told him, I said nobody would hire him if he had stuff all over his face, and he said he didn’t care. Didn’t care! Sometimes I wonder if an ornithologist switched out one of my eggs while I was away getting food!
But we finally came up with a compromise. He can’t be disruptive in class any more, and he’ll be respectful to his teacher when she explains the role of green pig architecture in our society. Then, at home, he can draw on those crazy eyebrows with a water-based ink, and have his friends come visit. But he can’t go out, and he definitely can’t get a tattoo ANYWHERE.
I swear, I’m already worried about what he’s going to be up to in college. What if he accidentally gets himself on the no-fly list? I don’t want him to end up with the ostriches! I keep hoping he’ll meet some nice girl and grow out of it. I just have to believe it’s only a phase.
Wear this shirt: so the guy next to you in the subway won’t feel awkward asking you how you beat the newest level. It’s kinda hard, isn’t it?
Don’t wear this shirt: to an Alfred Hitchcock film festival. It might cause a panic.
This shirt tells the world: “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any more!”
We call this color: I Am Furious, Red
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