If you could be a bird, would you rather find someone to poop on, or would you rather soar?
When I first read this question, I instantly racked the web-filled corners of my mind to determine who my target would be. I wanted a worthy mark–someone who deserved a good old splatter from up above.
You know what? I couldn’t think of anyone. Who warrants slimy, white and black poop landing on his or her head? Okay. Maybe there are a few who demand it, but why waste a wonderful day of being able to be a bird worried about who should get the crap-splat?
As I contemplated, I recognized that I’d much rather fly. I’d fly around and around, avoiding the telephone wires, of course. I’d soar high above them and admire the breathtaking view of the earth.
I’d soar so high, it would take my breath away. I’d be so high, I wouldn’t be able to breathe, so I’d pass out and dive to the earth. On my way down, I’d lose my bodily functions and probably poop on someone anyone.
When I turn into a bird, I’ll make sure I’m in Hollywood when I do it. That way no matter where the poop goes, it will land on someone who asked for it—preferably Gwenth Paltrow.