I hate early birds. Every. Single. One.

When they chirp at your window and knock their beaks against the glass, as if all things (living or not) had to answer to them... UGH! So annoying.

A world without feathers is the closest I could get to a trip to Bahamas. Or crossing the Kalunga river, for that matter.

Problem is, once they get tired of poking at your window, and you rejoice in the sound of wings flapping further and further away...

WHAM! It's the Federal Bird Intelligentsia, b*tch. Take off that blanket. Die devoured by the sun. Also, breakfast is ready.

Per the books, and ornithology, me (the owl) should eat him (the starling). No, give back the blanket. I'll lock you in a freezer. My revenge will prevail. There was maruchan for dinner.

But Kenny's sandwiches are not too bad. I guess this early bird can do his thing for a little longer.