Desmond and the Winged-Banshee.

I spent the first few moments of my morning arguing with what bird-enthusiasts call 'sparrows'. Me? - I think they're more canine than bird. Or a cross of both. (Read: Winged-Banshee.)

After a sleepless night, I woke up to find many screeching sparrows outside my window. And in my half-asleep state, I threw my pillow at the window. (I never throw my pillow at anything. Or at least, "never did before".)

But these were persistent banshee-birds, and they just kept coming back, bringing friends like it was Bring Your Sparrow-friend to Desmond's Window Day. And clearly, this day does not exist, so I started arguing with them - all the while, still groggy and half-awake, and mostly oblivious to the people staring from the neighbouring block.

Then, in what must have been the height of my bird-induced irritation, I made a gesture. And if you'd be one of em' Bird-enthusiasts, I reckon ya cover yer ears and eyes.

World, I made a Finger-Gun. And shot the birds.


(This Individual would like you to know he was barely awake when he perpetrated his wanton act of violence. He only realised what he had done upon waking up a few hours later. And besides, no birds were harmed. They didn't even leave after being shot. Screeching, audacious, little creatures, these Winged-Banshees.)