Lame Adventure 174: Rough Sex

Since I am not inclined to conduct a poll, but I have a very fertile imagination, possibly the last fertile aspect of my being, I will guess that most New Yorkers, and by most New Yorkers, I am zeroing in on the five boroughs, because I frequent upstate about as often as I do the Arctic, and until recently I would have gladly excluded Staten Island, until one of my subscribers, Beckyyk, a rather promising blogger, happens to hail from that locale forcing me to expand my narrow mind, would have skeptically assumed that the Empire state bird is the pigeon.   I suggest, “skeptically assumed” because New Yorkers might be thinking in the backs of their heads:

New Yorkers thinking en masse:  Can that possibly be right?

Since Lame Adventures is an unreliable source of educational spewing, no, it’s not.  New York actually has two things in common with Missouri.  The first is good help.  In early 2010, my boss, Elsbeth, at my urging, imported my sidekick, Greg, from St. Louis.  We had interviewed him the previous summer, so when we had a vacancy in February 2010, he immediately came to my mind.  The fact that I had a scintilla of recollection of a straight young guy at all, much less more than six months after meeting him, so stunned Elsbeth, she said:

Elsbeth:  Call him.  Hire him.  Declare a holiday.

Coincidentally, Greg’s birth-state bird happens to be the same as New York’s, the bluebird.   Over the weekend, I saw a bluebird in the garden near my building, and I thought:

Me (thinking):  Hello, little first bluebird of spring!

I then took this photograph.

I get my spots from my father, too.

And had a sudden hankering for squab.

Recently, late in the day while at work, Greg entered the office from his warehouse.  He interrupted my favorite pastime, clock watching, when he announced:

Greg:  Two pigeons are really going at it on the air conditioner!  It’s like a rape.

In response I grabbed my camera and entered the warehouse where indeed nature was taking a very loud, ferocious, feather-flapping course right outside the window atop the AC.  I highly regretted not having my Flip video at the ready and equally regretted being too burned out at that hour to recall I can also shoot video on my Canon digital camera.

I've got you cornered, now!

Get back over here!

Does my wing span excite you, baby?

You'll like this position, I dive off this wire into you.

Do you have a cigarette?

This week, Greg announced that George and Martha have resumed their romance in their boudoir atop our turd-encrusted AC.  He reported to me that they appear to have worked out their differences, or maybe George saw daylight and realized that poking Martha repeatedly in the head with his beak is not the foreplay technique that revs her engine.  Take it away, Otis!

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