So I'm sure that this story has been referenced on countless blogs today, but I really don't care. The bottom line is that, until you've been referenced on The Spoonbender, you haven't been referenced at all.

The tale is one of woe. A man and his girlfriend, both British, and their parrot, Gray, live in an apartment, or as they might say pastily, "a flat." One day the parrot begins echoing the phrase, "I love you, Gary." The man, being neither Gary nor retarded, suspects the worst. He confronts his girlfriend. She, either unable or unwilling to conjure a tale of her frenzied appreciation of Gary Player's performance in the British Open, confirms his suspicions. The pair part ways. Later, the man gives up the parrot when it continues to echo the phrase, mocking his very cuckholdery to the soul.

What bothers me is the woman's reaction to hearing that her ex had been forced to give up the pet. She commented to The Guardian, "I am surprised to hear he got rid of that bird. He spent more time talking to it than he did to me."

How about some motherfucking sympathy? You whore. I'd accept a smug response like that if the guy had knocked your teeth or forced you to bang syphilitic buddy or something. But his big crime is that he didn't talk to you enough. So instead of simply breaking up with him, you decide that the appropriate course of action is to bring some idiot home from work and suck his cock in front of the fucking parrot. I hope you get hanta virus.


It's not about the fucking parrot, above. It's about showing a little fucking respect and preserving the thread of dignity we as a species retain.

Analogcabin @ 8:40 AM
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