EVEN THE BIRDS KNOW IT...
Pigeon Man: he feeds the pigeons; he comes down the street every day with food for them. Some people call them flying rats; the pigeons; feathered rodents they say, but I like them. I always think they look quite dapper with that cocky little walk they do. And at that certain time of year when the male pigeons are so desperate to get laid, puffing themselves up and down and doing that little dance that I can’t help but admire them and pity them at the same time. They always look ridiculous dancing their mating dance; head bobbing, chest inflated like a Mae West, turning in circles and prancing. The problem is, there is no music. So the lady pigeon just tends to look worried at this sudden spurt of odd activity.
The male pigeon, desperate to get his end way is of course, oblivious to her scorn and incredulity and the fact that he looks like a twat. He just hums the tune of ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees and coos,’ you can tell from the way I use my walk I’m a pigeon's pigeon, no time to talk, coo, coo, coo, coo, staying ali...’ at which point he gets hit by a truck and the budding romance grinds to a halt.
As I say, the problem with pigeon dancing is the absence of music, other than the music of love, and as we know, not everybody hears the same tune. It’s a bit like riding a bike, but without the bike. You do look like an idiot if people don’t realise what you’re doing, sort of like mime; only not as stupid.
Actually, I shouldn’t dismiss mime out of hand like this, just because I can’t see the point in drinking an imaginary cup of water out of an imaginary glass. When I see people performing like this, I always make sure to express my appreciation by leaving imaginary money, because mime is in fact, when performed by a master, a very impressive art form. Rather than being just an idiot, you are in fact a highly trained, disciplined, designer idiot; usually wearing white gloves.
But back to pigeon sex; it doesn’t matter how big the male pigeon's chest gets, he looks, quite frankly, ridiculous trying to woo and coo his intended without any music. John Travolta could do it with the help of a choreographer and the Bee Gees but Patrick Pigeon just hasn’t got it in him; not that Mr Travolta would want to have a lady pigeon for his love interest for fear of puns like: who came first the chicken or the actor?
And speaking of love, I wonder why does Pigeon Man love pigeons? Why is it that he wanders the street where I work, feeding them literally out of his own pockets and out of the bag he carries around with him.
Even though he looks quite odd, to me anyway, he could quite easily walk past you and you probably wouldn’t see him. He’s one of the people that brush past when you’re reading the paper, invisible, unassuming and dare I say unimportant; unless you like breadcrumbs. He wears a brown, interestingly stained overcoat; a forensic student's feast of things to scratch and sniff; he is not just going bald, but meeting himself coming back the other way; his small eyes, dart about, suspicious, somewhat fearfully peering out from his red face. He surreptitiously drops breadcrumbs for the pigeons. Sometimes they follow him around, waiting for him to drop the crumbs, surreptitiously in his wake.
Sometimes the pigeons don’t follow him, though, aware of the similarities to the Pied Piper of Hamlin. They don’t want to add to the comparison with flying rodents by the people who don’t like pigeons just because they dropped a little excrement on their ice cream when they were seven.
I think Pigeon Man thinks he is doing a Doctor Doolittle with them. Perhaps it is a little more sinister. Maybe he is thinking along the same lines of The Penguin, a particular Nemesis of Batman. Perhaps one day we will all wake up to find our cars are buried under six foot of pigeon shit. Or maybe you just parked under a tree. Whatever. Perhaps Pigeon Man, when he has enough followers will take over the world.
The New World Order would be small, feathered and can’t dance; which would be better than the one we have now which is Big, Chicken-shit and can’t think.
Given a choice between Bush and Birdman, I’d take Birdman, but then again, it’s useless to even speculate, because America doesn’t have free elections anymore. And why does America, the land of the free, no longer have free elections? Why is it no longer a democracy? Why is Bush in power, the ridiculous Dictator from Disneyland?
Well, if you happen to stand by some pigeons while they are out, doing their thing, just listen closely and they will tell you how Bush won the first election.
Listen...
Coo, coo, coo, coo…
It was a...
Coo, coo, coo, coup...
