Yesterday, I bought a season ticket for Abbotsbury Swannery, our local dumping ground for spare ducks, swan, geese and various other waterfowl that can say "honk" convincingly. As I picked my way through the grounds, I remembered two warnings that have been passed down to me through the ages:
One: "A goose once ate my hand" -- Mrs Scary
Two: "One flap of a swan's wing can break a man's arm" -- The Whole World
Clearly, I was messing with evil, waterborne psychopaths, bent on taking over the world by pummelling humanity to death on wings of doom. And I could see the evil in their streamlined, feathery little faces, planning a painful death for me and my family. And that was just the ducks. However, I was disappointed to see on looking around, that even though the place was pretty crowded with humanity on what was a lovely spring Sunday afternoon, not one person appeared to be nursing broken limbs or life-threatening injuries caused by vengeful wildlife.
Quite frankly, this is a disgusting state of affairs. If this is the future of an evil Waterfowl Army, then I was sorely disappointed. They've become lax, flabby, and what can only be described as "cute". That just won't do. Somebody's got to whip them into shape. Somebody's got to put the "evil" and "man-eating" back into Evil Man-Eating Feathered Army of the Apocalypse. And that somebody's not going to be me.
Instead I picked up the forms to sponsor a swan. Or a duck. Or a nice coot, even. It's a start.
Mrs Scary's hand grew back, by the way.
"Quite Scary. And a Duck"
Joy sent me this link, and I'm disgusted that a respected member of the teaching profession could send me such utter, utter filth. I'm buying six. The ideal Christmas stocking filler.
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