E-mail: Brian7Morris "at" hotmail.com Archives March 2002 April 2002 May 2002 June 2002 July 2002 August 2002 September 2002 October 2002 November 2002 December 2002 January 2003 February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 current Blogs Mandapants farkleberries Uranium City Records The C.M. Sienko Foundation Storyteller Musings Solotarian Views Lynne Wiora Tek Poker News Blog Some Biscuits Evil Eye Emporium Niggling Doubts Pressure Release Sara as Mommy runswithscissors Defective Yeti Afternoon Delight The Terrarium Slipperily Tofu Hut Stereo Gum Links Fixed Gear Gallery Get Crafty This is Grand Featherproof Books Gapers Block Chicago Bird Watching Thieves Jargon	No one must know my terrible secret... House of Noh! Thursday, January 27, 2005 You know that dude birds don’t have wangs, right? Yeah, that’s why unless there is gender dimorphism or whatever, it’s so hard to tell the chick birds from the dude birds. Birds don’t even have gonad holes. They just have multi-purpose butt holes - holes they poop, whiz and copulate with, these are called “cloacae.” So this is how birds do it: sometimes there’s displays or whatever, but when it’s time to get down to business the dude bird flies up on top of the chick bird. Then, while still sort of flying and beating his wings, the dude sort of tips his tail down to one side of the chick bird’s tail, and the chick bird tips her tail up and they touch cloacas in a tender cloacal kiss, during which the dude bird sprays his stuff out of his cloaca into (if he’s on target, that is) the chick bird’s cloaca. And in a tale as old as time, once again the miracle of life begins anew! You’ve probably seen this happen lots of times, whether you knew the birds were doing it or not, especially in the spring. Those horny bastards -birds are shameless!! And if you’ve ever hung out with birdwatchers, you’ll know that whenever birds start getting it on, all the birders count out loud in unison for the duration of the cloacal kiss. If you ask somebody who’s been birding for any amount of time they’ll probably be able to give you some sort of explanation for why birders count out loud together while birds are getting their groove on. And the old timer birder’s explanation will probably make sense. But here’s the real reason why birders count: Years ago, birdwatchers watched birds bump cloaca, each alone with his or her own thoughts. Unfortunately, there seemed always to be some person in the group who just got way too into it. Everybody would just be watching the perfect, natural, miracle of nature of bird love, but then that person, (usually the creepy guy of the bunch) would start shouting stuff like, “Yeah! Give it to her! That’s right! Ungh! Take it! Ungh! UNGH!” and sometimes even accompany the performance with wild, toe-standing / calf straining, pelvic thrusts up into the air. It really made a lot of people uncomfortable. Among birdwatchers there have always been birdwatcher ladies and gentlemen in the true sense of the distinction, philosopher kings and poet warriors - it was probably one of these noble bird watchers who first suggested counting the seconds that elapsed during bird coitus as a way of pre-empting the comments of the creepy dude of the bunch. It caught on, of course - nobody is uncomfortable anymore. That’s the real reason birdwatchers don’t just enjoy the brief moment of hot, wild bird love silently. So anyway, about these cloaca - that’s where eggs come out of, of course. That’s why some eggs at the store sometimes have chicken poop on them. Sometimes, when the world seems so senselessly sad and cruel and meaningless to me, I think about this and realize that everything does make sense, in the end. Brian 3:11 AM Comments: That's fucking hilarious! # posted by Anonymous : 11:45 AM Post a Comment

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House of Noh!

Thursday, January 27, 2005

You know that dude birds don’t have wangs, right? Yeah, that’s why unless there is gender dimorphism or whatever, it’s so hard to tell the chick birds from the dude birds. Birds don’t even have gonad holes. They just have multi-purpose butt holes - holes they poop, whiz and copulate with, these are called “cloacae.” So this is how birds do it: sometimes there’s displays or whatever, but when it’s time to get down to business the dude bird flies up on top of the chick bird. Then, while still sort of flying and beating his wings, the dude sort of tips his tail down to one side of the chick bird’s tail, and the chick bird tips her tail up and they touch cloacas in a tender cloacal kiss, during which the dude bird sprays his stuff out of his cloaca into (if he’s on target, that is) the chick bird’s cloaca. And in a tale as old as time, once again the miracle of life begins anew! You’ve probably seen this happen lots of times, whether you knew the birds were doing it or not, especially in the spring. Those horny bastards -birds are shameless!! And if you’ve ever hung out with birdwatchers, you’ll know that whenever birds start getting it on, all the birders count out loud in unison for the duration of the cloacal kiss. If you ask somebody who’s been birding for any amount of time they’ll probably be able to give you some sort of explanation for why birders count out loud together while birds are getting their groove on. And the old timer birder’s explanation will probably make sense. But here’s the real reason why birders count: Years ago, birdwatchers watched birds bump cloaca, each alone with his or her own thoughts. Unfortunately, there seemed always to be some person in the group who just got way too into it. Everybody would just be watching the perfect, natural, miracle of nature of bird love, but then that person, (usually the creepy guy of the bunch) would start shouting stuff like, “Yeah! Give it to her! That’s right! Ungh! Take it! Ungh! UNGH!” and sometimes even accompany the performance with wild, toe-standing / calf straining, pelvic thrusts up into the air. It really made a lot of people uncomfortable. Among birdwatchers there have always been birdwatcher ladies and gentlemen in the true sense of the distinction, philosopher kings and poet warriors - it was probably one of these noble bird watchers who first suggested counting the seconds that elapsed during bird coitus as a way of pre-empting the comments of the creepy dude of the bunch. It caught on, of course - nobody is uncomfortable anymore. That’s the real reason birdwatchers don’t just enjoy the brief moment of hot, wild bird love silently. So anyway, about these cloaca - that’s where eggs come out of, of course. That’s why some eggs at the store sometimes have chicken poop on them. Sometimes, when the world seems so senselessly sad and cruel and meaningless to me, I think about this and realize that everything does make sense, in the end.

Brian 3:11 AM

Comments:

That's fucking hilarious!

# posted by Anonymous : 11:45 AM

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House of Noh!

Thursday, January 27, 2005