That's not true. I think I hate raisins more. I don't know; it's pretty close.
It wasn't always that way. When I was a kid, I really, really wanted a cockatiel. I don't know why. Future me didn't realize I was going to regret wanting a pet bird. I underestimated how psychotic birds can be. Actually, I didn't estimate it at all because I was an ignorant child who stupidly wanted a pet bird.
In 6th grade, I went to Sly Park for a camping or whatever field trip you want to call it. A week long trip was a pretty big deal back then, especially since I still didn't speak very good English. My parents came to visit me and told me that they had a surprise for me. My mom started making chirping noises (my weirdness is making more and more sense, huh?) and I got all excited and was like "holycrapyougotmeacockatielthatissofreakingcool" except I said it in Spanish and not in those exact words because I didn't know that vocabulary yet, but I was all excited. My mom said no, that they were parakeets and they weren't tame.
Those birds were loud. I mean, LOUD. I don't know how else to describe it besides saying that they were fucking loud as hell. But whatever. I just lost sleep. What 11-year old needs that shit? None, except every child so they can grow up to be normal and productive members of society. (Thanks for making me into a weird and productive member of society, parents. You got 50% of it!)
On my 12th birthday, though, they decided to take me to a pet store to buy a cockatiel because I really, really wanted one. I chose the bird that was sleeping in its food dish because I thought it would be totally cool and hilarious to have a weird bird. I mean, c'mon, it was sleeping in its food dish. The pet store people put him in a paper bag with holes so the bird could breathe. The bird was hissing at me the whole way home. When we got home, I tried to take him out of the paper bag, and the asshole bit me. After getting bit several times by this hand fed and totally tame bird, I decided to go to Plan B and rip the bag so I could grab the bird. That worked. Sort of.
The parakeets made Eddie really loud and obnoxious; he copied every noise they made. At that time, Eddie was a free-range bird, so every time that the phone rang he'd fly (or tried to; we clipped his feathers) in a panic. Or if he saw fruit, he'd try to COME AT ME BRO but would lose because when the fruit rolled away, he'd freak out and try to fly away in a panic again. Jesse and Joey were not free-range birds because they weren't tame. My mom would put their cage outside so they could make some Vitamin D or something.
One day, when I came home from school, my mother told me that a gust of wind blew Jesse and Joey's cage down and they escaped. I asked her if she thought that they would come back and she responded with, "No. They're probably going to die soon." (My mother has always been very frank about everything. When I asked her where babies came from, she told me it was from the butt [to keep it simple for a 5-year old]. My first sex ed. class was very confusing. All I knew is that the teacher had it all wrong. Don't worry... I figured it out.)
Things didn't get better with Eddie once Jesse and Joey committed suicide. Eddie kept freaking out about more things and decided that randomly attacking stuff was good fun. My German Shepherd/Chow mix was afraid of the bird. The other dog, Bandit, a Shiz Tsu/Toy Collie mix didn't care because he had the COME AT ME BRO complex, too. Eddie kept attacking everything and everyone. He also ate the paint off the wall. Maybe that had something to do with his craziness... I don't know. I didn't eat paint off the wall when I was a kid (or now). The bird was psycho; he even peacocked my horse! (This is a true story. When Eddie was still not as psycho, I took him to the barn when I was a kid one day to feed my horse his grain. My horse doesn't like feathers. Yeah...)
After several paint incidents, Eddie stopped being a free-range bird.
Fast forward a few years and a kitten was introduced to the house. The kitten was mesmerized by the bird because, duh, she's a fucking cat and she likes to hunt and shit. She jumped on the cage once. Once. Eddie had none of that nonsense and attacked the kitten. The kitten will no longer go near that bird. Even he's too crazy for the psycho cat.
Not only is Eddie psycho, likes to eat paint, attacks huge dogs, and scares kittens, but he's a chronic masturbator. No one believed me until they actually saw it for themselves. When you're 14-years old and you see this happening, it's not cool. Actually, it still isn't. I mean, what the hell!?
And it's not like I can just avoid birds. Birds live outside and shit on everything we love. I also housesit for a couple of friends, one who has an aviary with 12 birds and another one who has a single bird that I think was dropped as an egg or something because he's so weird. I don't touch the ones in the aviary; I just feed them. The single bird gets to come out of its cage when I housesit, but I use a chopstick. No way will I let a bird's clammy feet touch me!
There are several reasons why I dislike birds now. They're loud, they destroy things, they attack people/things, they have clammy feet, some are chronic masturbators, they bite, they have bird dandruff that fills the room and makes me sneeze, they molt, some have deep psychological issues, they shit on your stuff, eat your homework, mock you with their flying abilities, fight with you, threaten your safety, attack dogs, scare kittens, and eat paint off the walls. I think the biggest trauma for me was Eddie, though. That bird just fucked it up for every other bird in the world.
When it comes to birds, most people see this,
Thanks to Eddie, I see this,
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