My least favorite animal

I promise to stop the animal bit, but something happened this morning that gave me the overwhelming urge to buy a gun. I don't own a gun, never have, and always thought that I never would, until now. I woke up at the asscrack of dawn this morning. It doesn't happen very often on a Saturday, so I felt the need to be productive. I drank coffee and played piano for awhile before I decided to walk to the coffeehouse to grade some papers. It was a glorious fall morning as I strolled to my destination, rocking out to the Exploding Hearts (I'm not sure if I could've have been more stereotypically indie at this point. I apologize. I didn't realize it at the time, but I do know. Please excuse me while I punch my own face. Okay, I'm back...and bleeding). As I was saying, it was a beautiful morning and I was soaking it all in when all of a sudden, I felt a burning sensation on my arm. My first thought was Ohh shit, time to go to the hospital (for those of you that don't know...I can die from a single yellowjacket sting...I know...it only adds to my superbadassness that a fuckin bug can take me out just as easily as a bullet to the head). To my surprise, the burning sensation was not an insect bite/sting at all. I would've been thankful if the culprit was not in fact a hot, steamy pile of bird shit. I'd never been shat upon before. Now I can honestly say that I received my first Cleveland Steamer from a bird. I should start a website. I could make millions. In all seriousness, it probably should've ruined my day, but I was(and still am) thoroughly impressed by the temperature of the aforementioned bird poo (It felt gooey cheese eggs fresh off the skillet). So I think my next order of business it to invest some money in a coonskin cap and a double barrel shotgun and avenge the shatting. Or maybe I'll just feed the fuckers rice and Alka Seltzer.