spoilersallaround

[spoilersallaround]

Outside the window are tits

Outside the window are tits (Oh, really?), magpies (cheeky faces!) and a squirrel. It was clear that something had to be done with all this abundance.

Stas cut two cavities in a plastic bottle so the birds wouldn't feel claustrophobic, made a perch and poured in some pearl barley and roasted sunflower seeds. It turned out the birds couldn't eat both, but the tits (OMG) didn't know that either, and the seeds were eaten within half an hour. They left the pearls, and who can blame them? You can't eat pearl barley without the white mushrooms.

We couldn't find non-roasted buckwheat and sunflower seeds in the human shop, but the cat shop had food for birds, including birds outside the window. We also bought an incredibly smelly tick collar for Trifon, who had picked up the parasite on his scruff last week and enriched us with the knowledge that the Advocate does not work against ticks.

Now, as soon as Trifon starts dig the ground under the briar, I rush to look under her tail and on the leaves. After a tick bite it is necessary to check the colour of the urine, so forgive me, Tryphonas, for a strange curiosity and do not bury it so quickly!

The tits (really, why?) were happy with the food, and then everything went on like people. One of them proclaimed himself master of the food and began to persecute the others. The underprivileged formed small coalitions and adopted a fail-safe strategy - one distracts the tyrant, the second breaks into the feeder and eats.

Several times I have tried to teach the tyrant the basics of cooperation in a steely voice, but when I go outside they all swing on apple branches and look at me with exactly the same bird faces.

I call the tyrant a nasty rooster, because a tit (how will this be?!) is kind of automatically a girl. And a girl doesn't chase the weak away from food or poop on another girl's drying duvet cover.

PS. And on the pillowcase!

PPS. And on the sheet!

[spoilersallaround]

What would Hemingway say?

I love writer's tales. They're just as wild as the actors', but you don't have to clap at the end and pretend that's a likely story.

Zelda informs Fitz that he has a little dick that can't make anyone happy. Fitz naturally immediately feels unhappy. All unhappy people go to the bar. And there, what luck! - Hemingway. Hearing Fitz's complaint, Ham takes him to the bathroom, where he asks him to take off his pants. Knowing that Ham is not very good at hearing no (when another future wife tried to refuse him and show him a portrait of an actual fiancé, Ham tore up the picture, flushed it down the toilet, and shot up the toilet), and not wanting to pay for the local toilets, Fitz pulled down his pants.

Ham scrutinized Fitz's penis from all angles and issued a verdict of not guilty. “Nice dick,” he said. - Normal. 'The thing is,' Ham continued, 'you're looking at it from above. Go to the Louvre, it's full of statues, look at them from below. You've got just as good a view from that angle.”

I don't know if Fitz went to the Louvre for a change of angle, but it doesn't matter. What does matter is that now, when I'm not sure whether to embark on a new project, I always think - what would Ham say? And I turn around.

"Nice dick,” he says, looking at the project. He's never wrong.

[spoilersallaround]

Flashback

I think he caught me with the Hippopotamus. We just had a bet with Roxanne, she says it was the Liar. I said, ‘Well, sex with a horse was in Hippopotamus.' She said, ‘No, it was in Liar!' I said, ‘But definitely with a horse?' She said, ‘Yes. I think so. Maybe with a donkey."

I googled it to clarify the question. Now I have to burn the laptop. What is wrong with you people? Doesn't anyone care about literature?

Anyway, I'm going to re-read Hippopotamus and the Liar, but you've already realised it all started somewhere around here.

We've been thinking about how to express our admiration for Fry. The usual feminine way didn't work, so we came up with another usual feminine way: feeding. Breakfast, like a bow to God, like an abundant sacrifice. We were in our twenties. We liked the idea very much. It was a pity that none of us spoke English, nor, for that matter, knew how to cook edible things.