To Kill A Mockingbird.

There is a Bird. And he needs to DIE. Never have I wished death upon a living creature before, but this is getting a little crazy.

Outside my mother's front porch are a bunch of trees. At the very top of one of these trees lives a Mockingbird. Normally I don't pay any attention to birds, thinking of them as mother natures soundtrack to life. Kinda like the Mission impossible theme, but for outside, and not as awesome. I like birds. they're cute, they're fluffy, and so far, their only proven reason of existence is to crap on cars.

There's something wrong with this bird.

Most birds know when its dark, that means its time for sleep. Not this one. Every night at around 1:30, without fail,  He gets it into his little birdy brain, that he just NEEDS to sing. Not regular singing, oh no, that would be far too mundane for him. He feels the need to burst out with the most annoying sounds on the face of the planet. He ranges from frogs, weird coughing noises, what sounds like a cat playing the bagpipes, retarded remixes of regular bird noises, and once I even heard him do a traffic whistle. One night I decided to count how many different "songs" he could sing. I got aggravated and stopped counting around twenty.

My mother knows of this bird. And she agrees that he's pretty much retarded. I would sic my cat on him, but she would probably join up with him, and I don't relish the thought of being serenaded at all hours of the night by a tone deaf cat with a weight problem. Plus she's probably too lazy to run him down anyway.

Who is he talking to? I'm not sure. Will the other birds finally get pissed of having their sleep interrupted and shoot him? Who knows, but I have named him Maurice, and Maurice must DIE...