NIGHT BIRDS

As promised Jock lovers I have decided to present for you my guide to birds of the night!

Not whores, but actual birds! The ones that stay up and cause a fucking nuisance when other specimens of this feathered genus are quietly minding their own business in their nests, dreaming of fat worms. And no, that’s not in a BBW sense.

So what’s out there??

Well, not to be confused with my orthodox Darwinian and highly accurate portrayal of the meaning - ‘night bird’, comes the Robin. It’s actually a day walker but with good low light skills.

Now these little cunts will happily stay up all night and chat shit all year round. They don’t migrate, so once one has moved in you are stuck with the little retard. What’s more, they tend to keep to the same territory too, so If one turns up on your back doorstep that’s tone deaf, you’re fucked.

Also, it’s these little fuckwits that actually start the dawn chorus! Yeah, I know what you are thinking…Falling home so pissed your hangover’s started on a warm June night, only to shamefully hear the sound of the dawn chorus starting up and penetrating your ear drums as you try and climb into bed. At least you guys have houses to sleep in. I’m out with them the whole time, Its torture.

Mind you, you have to give credit to these little red chested side kicks. Their sight is built for maximising low light conditions when hunting. Expect to see them in a bush near you next time you are out dogging at twilight, probably tracking down some insidious insectasoid warlord for dinner….. Or a dodgy Vauxhall Insignia with flashing headlights. Who knew ;-)

                                                    

                                           Insignia: Doggers Delight

Furthermore, Robins are the ones you can hear chirping away by well lit street lights at night…….. So they will be out there protecting your ass when you are curb crawling too. Get in there my little ho loving friends!

                                            Robin: sharp senses

Next we move on to actual night birds….

So you’ve had a bad day. You are sore from work, lacking in vagisil, stressed from the state of the farming industry in this country and worried about your best friend who is bravely defending our nation out in some Middle Eastern hell hole. It’s dark, dank dreary and dismal. All in all a depressing night in…the field.

You start talking to yourself in a bit of a crazy way and before too long some bird answers back. So what bird would you associate with sticking their ore in only to give you the shittest therapy this side of the nut house….. Yep - Owls.

And here on the farm Wilfred the Barn Owl is particularly apt at talking bolloks in large portions.

The arguments I have with this bell end wind me up like only a fucking Owl can!

I was so pissed off once – literally my cock was throbbing after smashing nih-on thirty fucking cows in one day, thanks to Matt The Farmer and voyeuristic associates from Farmers Weekly magazine wanting to do some sort of feature. Admittedly, the pictures did look good in monochrome; I scored quite high, Skills.

Any way, I was knackered after and all I wanted was some Sudocrem.

So Wilfred thought he would share a story with me about how he once a cult and brain washed loads of mice into joining, selling up their livelihoods and leaving their homes, only to be rounded up and mercilessly slain for dinner.

What a sick fuck. What an absolute glutiness overeating, over indulging grooming fuck.

Typical night bird, talk’s absolute shite. He was probably making the whole thing up. It takes a dark mind to think of that though. Wilfred’s just a pretender. Only Knuckles The Magpie could pull that sort of shit off.

                                                         Sudocrem: Needed

Moving on now to the torturous tones of the fucking Nightjar…..

With an annoying sound that sits somewhere between an old skool 56k dial up modem and the constant lazer fire of a space ship on a 1980’s video game, you are really in for a fucking treat if these little arseholes decide to rev up at night.

And Dorset’s full of them. I’ve heard they sound like they do because they are all crack heads. Spending the first part of the night tooting on crack pipes and slowly chatting faster and faster. They tend to shut up as the evening prevails. I’m guessing its because they are on mighty come downs.

The last one I met was called Paul. He was trying to carry a flat screen TV with his mate who just kept quiet. He was jibbing all sorts of drug induced verbal diarrhoea about how he was sorting anew telly out for his gran. Like you do at midnight. Fucking tramps. 

                                           NightJars: Wasted on drugs 

NEXT WEEK > Health and safety on farms: its high time I finally comment on this issue