You Flew Your Bicycle in My Window Last Night

There's usually a single fly joyflying around my apartment at any given moment. Not two, just one. It's a bother sometimes, but I decided a long time ago that it wasn't enough of a bother to make me close the door to my porch. I don't care if it has a screen up top, I like it open. And if it means I have to deal with a fly, I'm okay with that.

Then a bird flew in last night. The night's game of Crapples2Crapples was over, but Rachel and Ross were still around when it happened. My first reaction was to get a newspaper. Russ took off his shirt. Rachel screamed. Who knew she was so skittish around avians? The newspaper and the t-shirt proved to be poor bird-herding implements, and after it had given us the slip a couple of times we paused, discussed our college degrees, and went and got a sheet. That finally worked, but not before the thing had started taking reverse kamikaze missions into the ceiling. My living room is covered with little sparrow-sized streaks of bird blood. I should have cleaned it last night while it was fresh—now I'm going to have to break out some more advanced scrubbing utensils. Which just goes to show you, a bird in the den is worth two brushes in your hands.

First Impact
Little Dirty Birdie Blood
The Red Scare
The, possibly, good news is that it did fly away once I tossed it out of the sheet. It may or may not of run into the building next door though. I couldn't tell, it was dark.

The bad news is that Rachel really is scared of birds:

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