BIRDS


LUV - Alright? Going anywhere nice on your holidays this year? Ooh, that sounds lovely. Who you flying with? Oh yeah?

STOP. THINK. BIRDS.

You would not be going anywhere in a plane if birds hadn’t first invented flight. Birds are so preposterously clever that it took us millions of years to get around to doing something they do naturally.

We can thank the extinct flightless Roller Turkey for giving us the idea for cars, too.

Where did you say your were going on your hols again? Oh yeah?

STOP. THINK. BIRDS.

Birds invented holidays. One day, one of them turned around around and went: “Kuh-KAH! It’s kucking freezing here, shall we ka somewhere warmer for the winter?” The other birds extended their feathery fingers, stroked their beaky chins and said, “Koh-kay! Lead ka way!” And off they flied.

They’ve been doing it ever since, and it’s such a brilliant idea that we stole that one off them too.

Sayyy, who’s that attractive female strolling down the avenue? Yessir, she’s “a hot chick”, alright.

STOP. THINK. BIRDS.

Why did men start referring to women as “birds”, and “chicks”, and “ornithologically smokin’”? Well, in olden times males had such LUV for birds that they wanted to mate and procreate with them. This was before bathing, shaving and hair straightening, you see, and much earlier in the evolutionary process, so there was a dearth of human female hotties around.

But when one did come along, with nicely varnished wooden teeth and skin that was only 98% caked in magotty filth, our progenitors would compare her to the beauty inherent in their feathery fuck fixations. “Yon maiden if af fair af the birdf in the fky,” they’d coo, as they rubbed their codpieces and prepared to beat her senseless with a mace.

This bird-banging instinct remains in the male subconscious to this day, and while most men’s brains are developed enough to repress it, you can spot it in perverts who engage in bird-watching. LUV & HAT’s lawyers have prevented me from saying anything about Bill Oddie here.

Birds have given humans a lot, so next time you’re about to shoot one, eat one, bum one, stick one in a cage in the corner of your living room, or - most heinous of all - moan about the free alarm call they give you, why don’t you:

BLOODY STOP. BLOODY THINK. BLOODY BIRDS.
- Stuart Waterman


HAT - I take it back. I take it all fucking back. Not so long ago I was espousing the brilliance of spring on this very website. Well fuck that. Fuck spring in its silly hole. Because, when I was droning on about how much I love spring, I’d forgotten what actually happens in spring. In spring it gets lighter earlier. And what happens when it gets lighter earlier? The dawn chorus kicks in at about half past four in the titting morning, doesn’t it. Goodbye, full night’s sleep! Great knowing you! See you in October!


The dawn chorus is undoubtedly the worst invention of all time. Why do it, birds? Why? What possible good can come from you all waking up at the literal crack of dawn and shrieking “COR! BLOODY FUCK! WHAT THE COCK IS THAT? HOLY SHIT, IT’S ONLY THE FUCKING SUN!” at each other in your shrill, made-up bird language. It happens every day, birds. Get over it.


Flying car alarms, that’s what birds are. Little flying car alarms that keep going off two hours before I want to wake up. And they’re sneaky about it, too. Say, hypothetically, that the dawn chorus has enraged you so much that you go stomping out of your front door in your pants at 4:30am holding a pile of shoes to throw at the noisiest birds - particularly the one that’s learnt to make the EXACT same noise as my alarm clock purely to spite me because it’s a MASSIVE TWAT. Hypothetically. Well, guess what? You can’t even see them. The birds hide for the dawn chorus. They’re playing Knock Down Ginger with you, the feathery little ninja bastards.


Not that my hatred of birds is exclusively limited to the dawn chorus, you understand. I also hate:


*The way that they never blink


*The way that they have descended from dinosaurs


*Their beaks


*The way that seagulls sometimes hang around miles away from the sea, like a bunch of lairy Hell’s Angels on a day trip


*That moment when you’re walking and there’s a bird in front of you and it sees you coming and starts to fly and for a split second you think it’s going to divebomb headfirst into your eye and pierce your brain and you’ll die


But it’s mainly the dawn chorus.


And that’s why, from now on, my favourite food is turducken. Three birds, all killed and Human Centipeded together, specifically so I can eat them. Take that, you trilling bellends.
- Stuart Heritage