With Continual Reference to Justin Kahn.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Trilogy Friday: Part III: My Movie Review of Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds."

This movie is so fake. The amount of bird crap that would have been generated by so many birds would have been enormous. I personally have been shat on and can testify to how full of crap birds are.

I would estimate, based on my personal experience, (which is to me, what blogging is all about) that a small sized bird generates about 5 lbs of poopie. The number of birds in this movie would suggest that several tons of fecal matter (poopie) would be produced. Yet, any evidence of the birds crud (doo-doo)is absent.

Of course, by the looks of the promotional materials Mr. Hitchcock is looking a little bloated: a sign of the onset of Avian Bird Flu, usually just minutes before your head explodes.

Now that is scary. I wish Mr. Hitchcock would have highlighted such truly terrifying matters--We Both Have it Now!--rather than trying to persuade us that his dungless (poopie-less) birds are real.


Jenn said...

OK I was out walking with my sister in this idyllic sort of walking place (rolling hills etc). She said...it would be beautiful, if it were not for the smell of poopie (actually she said shit). And I said, sometimes, it smells of pee (actually I said piss). And she said, charming. And I said, well, you know nature, what it really smells like is poopie and pee. And she said, yeah, I suppose.

Jenn said...

PS: I like your trilogies and think you should do more of them.

The bird seems to have fertilised your blog quite adequately.

God bless the avians, I say.

Justin said...

jenn: so that is what girls talk about in the idyllic girls bathrooms. j.

Justin said...

P. P. S
The suffering is too much. I hope I never have a trilogy friday again.

QuillDancer said...

But Justin, I loved the triliogy -- by the time I got to this post I was laughing so hard I almost fell out of my chair. I loved them so much I returned this afternoon and read all three again.

So now you know that -- like all great writers -- you need to suffer for your art. Tomorrow I suggest you get yourself chased by a territorial chahuahua and have your shoe laces chewed off.