Alfred Klinger presents: "The Birds"
The Klinger Residence. 10pm, Wednesday last week. Mr. & Mrs. Klinger have just returned from Mr. Klinger's softball game. It is dark, and, as usual, the porch light is not on, because Mr. K works for the power company and is all about conservation. Okay, not really, it's not on because they just don't turn it on. Mrs. K approaches the door first to unlock it, with Mr. K close behind.
Mrs. K feels a freaky flapping on her face as soon as she begins to open the door.
Mrs. K: WHAT THE EFF WAS THAT!!!!!
Mr. K: It was a damned bird! It was in the wreath!
Mrs. K: Holy shit, that was scary. I about had a heart attack! Thank god it didn't come in the house.
[Fade to black.]
The Klinger Residence. 10pm, Wednesday night. Mr. and Mrs. K have just returned from Mr. K's softball game. It's dark and, as usual, the porch light is not on because the K's couldn't bare to spend the extra $.05 to illuminate their front stoop. Okay, not really, it's not on because one bird attack didn't teach them any lessons. This time, Mr. K approaches the door first, with Mrs. K close behind.
Mr. K is faster at the unlocking than Mrs. K was the previous week, and as he opens the door, he immediately throws himself belly-first into the living room, a la "Duck & Cover." Mrs. K has no idea what the hell is going on, but she looks around quickly because it appears they may be under attack by some serious enemy fire.
Mr. K: AAAAGGGHHH!!! THE BIRDS!! THERE'S A BIRD! IT GOT ME! OH MY GOD! THE BIRDS! IT'S IN THE HOUSE!!
Mrs. K begins to laugh because the sight of her husband on his hands and knees as if he is behind enemy lines is comical, but stops herself because the idea of a bird in the house is NOT funny in the least.
Mrs. K: Honey, are you SURE it got in the house, maybe it just flew back out? (Mr. K assembles himself into a seated, semi-fetal position, and Mrs. K notices something on his ear.) What is that on your ear, baby?
Mr. K: What do you mean? Where? (Mr. K reaches up to check it out as Mrs. K registers that white... goo... on... husband's... ear... can only be...)
Mrs. K: Honey, that bird shit on you! (Mrs. K begins to laugh hysterically, and is incapable of containing the hilarity.)
Mr. K: It's not funny!
Mrs. K: Oh yes it is!!! (Continues to laugh hysterically. Runs to bathroom to avoid accident in her pants.)
Mrs. K takes Mr. K's shirt to wash it while Mr. K goes to shower away the bird poop. Mrs. K searches the house and finds no trace of the attack bird. Just in case, though, the K's close their bedroom door when they go to sleep.
The Klinger Residence. Early on Thursday morning. Mrs. K is almost ready to head out the door to catch the bus for work, Mr. K is still attempting to drag himself out of the bed. Mrs. K goes into the spare bedroom where she keeps some of her clothes. She hears a distinct flapping noise coming from downstairs.
Mrs. K: Honey. It's in the house.
Mr. K: (Unintelligible mumbling.)
Mrs. K: I said: the bird. It's in the house. It might be in the ceiling fan downstairs. I don't know what it's doing.
Mr. K: Where is it?
Mrs. K: I said it's downstairs. I have no idea what it's doing.
Mr. and Mrs. K put on old clothes (in case of bird poop ambush) and close all of the doors upstairs. They begin to descend the stairs, much like you may remember Scooby Doo and Shaggy creeping along while trying to solve a mystery. Knees up high with each gentle step, head jutted forward, ears cocked towards the rogue bird.
Mr. K: There he is! Oh, he's just a little bird! Do you think he can even fly?!
As if having to spend the night inside weren't enough of an insult, the bird hears Mr. K and decides HE'LL SHOW HIM! The bird flies into the dining room! Into the window! Up around the ceiling!
Mrs. K stands waiting by the open door after tapping it a few times to make sure no more birds are in the wreath. When she is satisfied there are none, she removes the wreath and examines it for traces of a nest. There are none. For good measure, in case there are some sneaky ass birds still hiding in there, she taps it a little more. When satisfied there REALLY aren't any birds inside, she whacks the hell out of it while thinking, "Yeah! Take that, birds! I'll beat on your nest! That's what you get for trying to live in my wreath!" (Mrs. K would, of course, not have the heart to actually beat on anything a bird was using for a nest. But since they're gone, she can take out her frustrations with no guilt.)
In the meantime, the bird has flown up into the loft and Mr. K is chasing it around with a broom. Finally, the bird swoops downstairs and right out the front door! Mrs. K swiftly closes the front door and looks at Mr. K with eyes that say, "What in the hell just happened."
Mr. K: No more wreaths on the door.