I’m trying hard to tackle a bad case of writer’s block. Haven’t done a bad joke for a while now so, stand back!
The bird’s behaviour was falling into a pattern of sorts. Every day, I’d see it follow the man back from his morning walk and pause as he bent down to pick up the newspaper from his doorstep. Just as the man would bend over, the aforementioned bird would let out a ear-splitting cry that would rudely shatter the harmonious silence of the early morn. Quite a mood killer, I must say. Surprised, the man would turn around hurriedly only to see the bird let out another such cry and then disappear into the garden. Puzzled, he’d enter the house, but I knew, that he was thinking the same thing that I was. ‘What the hell was the bird’s problem? Why was it doing this every damn day and that too at the exact same time?? And that too only to him?’
This man, was no ordinary individual. He was one of the biggest mafia lords in the country and was the most powerful man in the city’s underworld. He left for his morning walk at 4 am everyday and returned exactly at day break. As most people in the mafia, he wore a ton of flashy jewelry and sported RayBan Aviators at all times. He wore expensive Adidas trainers and could obviously afford the good things in life. The only thing that struck me as a little odd, was his tracksuit. It looked a little snug and the pants looked a little too tight for comfort. It puzzled me that a man like this would wear track pants that were too small for him. ‘To each, his own’, said I, and dismissed the thought from my mind.
Anyway, the trend continued for a good four weeks. The first rays of the sun would greet the skies, the hefty thug would reach his doorstep, bend over, pick up the newspaper and then proceed to be aurally blasted by the bird. This was beginning to get embarrassing. The man’s bodyguards had started to snigger behind his back every time this happened. A few of them even started looking forward to the event each day. I decided to get a closer look to see if this monarch of the underworld was actually doing something to vex the bird in any way.
I got myself a pair of binoculars and settled down in my balcony the next day. The gangster left for his walk as usual and I patiently waited for him to come back. As he entered the gate, I saw the bird – an adult male chicken, come out of the bushes and make a beeline for him. I adjusted the sights on my binoculars and observed the man bending over to pick up the paper. What I saw, was unpleasant to say the least. The track pants were small, and this mafioso was big. He bent over and exposed a mighty rectal ravine that put the Grand Canyon to shame. I turned away in disgust, but also knew in that moment, that the case, was solved.
As it did, every day, the bird instantly burst into song and made the man jump back in surprise and let out a stream of foul language. I put my binoculars down. Like I said, the case, was solved. The bird – a male chicken – was only acting on instinct.
Every one knows that the rooster crows at the crack of Don.
Yes. I have a twisted sense of humour. And yes, I’m proud of it!
Over and out 😀