I’m not an unreasonable person. Most of the time, anyway. So when I discovered pigeons living on my home, I said, “Cool. Pigeons.”

Now I see that these birds have repaid my indifference by shitting all over my car. I gave these birds the benefit of the doubt the first couple of times. Maybe they got ahold of a bad batch of whatever it is these birds eat (burritos?), and maybe they just couldn’t hold it till they got over something a little less important than my car (like my neighbor’s car).

My car is bad-ass. Sure it’s old and a little junky. But it’s fast and sleek and strong. It impresses women and intimidates men. My car is a Presence. But coat it in bird shit, and it really takes away from the splendor. I sense that these birds understand that, almost like they’re trying to teach me a lesson about vanity and aspiration: I’m just a dumb, poor kid from a Fountain trailerpark, and I should just drive a Hyundai and be happy with it.

Well, screw you, Pigeons. I went through a lot to get that car, and I’m not going to let you humiliate me. Consider this your eviction notice. Because I’m a gentleman, I won’t shoot you or poison you. But you’ve menaced me (and the cats) for the last time. Soon, I will crawl up to your nest and remove it, placing sharp stainless steel spikes in its place. I might even get a plastic owl.

I gave these birds a chance to coexist peacefully, but now I see that this cannot be. Game on, Pigeon. Game on.

Really? This is how you repay me for my kindness, Pigeon? Nice.

And on the driver's side, even. Nothing on the passenger side? Are you trying to tell me something, bird?

I see you also have no problem shitting on my home. Outstanding.

I know where you live, Pigeon. You live right under there, back in the darkness. But not for much longer.

Yes, you. You better start looking for a new home, Pigeon.