Four Calling Birds

Dear Dan,

Hello. This is Snunshine. I’ve been wasting my time with hanging out with Girl while you are in Africa.

Frankly, I’m twiddling my flippers with boredom. This morning I tried sandbagging the bathtub with flour — remember when I saved Iowa City from raging flood waters? — but it smelled bad in there, and I think it was pretty much bagged already.

So then I went and hung out with my old friend Dirty Bill. Dirty Bill used to fly with a dangerous gaggle back in Florida, but then quit his job and moved to the city to try his wing at a non-profit.

We were talking shit smack about some birds we know, and it was fucking really great, but then Girl stormed in and warned me not to speak in expletives anymore because her parents read this blog. Dan, this is bullshit crap turd.

I miss our bro time, Dan. Girl doesn’t have any eggs in her fridge and she makes me do dumb stuff, like watch Shear Genius or Katy Perry on Fox News . (I kissed a boy penguin once while on vacation in the Galapagos to get attention from the ladies. No biggie.) And this morning was the worst. She spent like an hour trying to figure out if James Franco is getting his MFA in Poetry, just like she did. Ugh.

No no — the WORST is this lame ass butt blogging everyday until your return. I mean, I get the 12 days of Christmas thing, because you’re in Tanzania for 12 days, but that song is insulting to ME since it’s full of BIRDS with no mention of PENGUINS.

So while Girl is struggling with packing tape (she was too cheap to buy the kind with the razored edge HA HA) I’ve taken it upon myself to bring you a REAL calling bird.

I left you a message, Dan. Hit me back!