The Otherworldly Parrot (a truly game bird)

Some days, I ought to have "w e i r d o" stenciled on my big fat head. Bianca assures me, melodically, and with a rhythmic roll of the eyes, that everyone knows I am "étrange" already, with the unspoken "get over it" hanging in the middle of the room, writ large as if in pink cotton candy.

{Shut up. It's my blog. Leave my sentences alone.}

Like I said: Pink; Writ large; Cotton candy.

It was stormy out today, here (deep, deep) in Tête de Hergé, so Bianca and I stayed home, cozy and bored shitless in Marlinspike Hall -- we built huge fires in every room of our wing and in all the kitchens.

She'd never really experienced the internet before, except for blogging, and Fred and I have that set up for her so that she doesn't even have to pause in her aria -- she doesn't lose a breath of "Ah! Je ris de me voir si belle dans ce miroir!"

So I decided to introduce her to YouTube. Risky business, that, because of all the videos in which she features! Believe it or not, she has no idea she has been filmed in concert -- much less that billions upon bazillions of people watch her obsessively in the middle of the night, in middles of the night all the world over. Oh, God, I am all verklempt. (A few miles to my right: verklemmt.) Du calme, du calme.


I said, "M'amie... why don't you find a video that you like -- something lighthearted and fun -- and I will show you how easy it is to add it to the blog," further explaining that I often choose videos of cats... hoping to lead by responsible example.

I don't know what to say. This is what she picked. What could I do? Please don't make me write "w e i r d o" on my vast socialist forehead.



I may never shut my eyes again, at least sober, without seeing the otherworldly image of The Parrot with his head crammed in that cone.