So I was sitting here today, thinking, "Oh, dear I feel a little peckish," "Holy fuck, I'm so hungry I could eat a side of beef," when I thought maybe a few cheese and crackers might calm the crazy down inside my stomach. I found a box of these and sliced up some Colby and was all proud of myself for making a fucking food decision so quickly for once in my life.
So I break off a wee portion of the "cracker", top it with cheese and take a bite. Ever wonder what it would be like to eat sawdust with a slice of cheese? This oatcake was the most revolting thing I've ever put in my mouth, AND THAT…is saying something. Think dry (so very dry), sandy and utterly devoid of flavor. It took me a good 15 minutes to get over the horror of choking down that "cracker". Seriously, if you hate somebody and never want to see them again, buy a box of these babies and invite them over for some tapas.
So frankly, I blame the Scottish for this abomination. What have the Scottish ever done for us besides annoy the fuck out of us with their bagpipery, their oatmeal and assorted disgusto-meats stuffed in a sheep's stomach and now they are trying to kill us with their sawdusty "crackers" by slapping ORGANIC and ALL-NATURAL on the package. Oatmealy goodness, my ass.
(Dear Scotland, please don't slap me with your haggis nor wake me up in the morning with the baleful notes of your bagpipes. I get woken up enough by stupid birds that seem to think that 4 am is the perfect time to wake up the neighborhood.)
For the past 11 years, we've had a regular rota of birds nesting in our yard. We have mean-ass bluejays in the front yard, terrified cardinals in the back and robins in the sideyard. This year, we've had two new birds move into the ivy that grows along the side of my front window. They are black, with orange beaks, and sing a cute little song. I was fine with that.
And then that's where the tolerance ends.
These birds have decided that dive bombing me every time I walk out near the driveway is The Best Thing, Evar. They have scared the shit out of me more times than the Evil Groundhog from 2009. It has gotten to the point where I open the door and look both ways before stepping outside. And even then, they manage to sneak up on me and fly past my head.
The scariest thing is that I've googled these birds and I can not find native Ontario birds that looks like them or sounds like them. So I have determined that they must be zombie birds, brought back from the dead by evil incarnate and they are here to slowly drive me mad. Because what wild bird deliberately flies out of their nest when you walk by to go to the compost bin (Yes, I have a compost bin*. Suck it, internet.) while they song their gay little tune? That's right. ONLY ZOMBIE BIRDS.**
Speaking of zombies, I just remembered that my friend, Cheryl, is Scottish and now she's going to read about my hatred of oatcakes and she's probably going to unleash some sort of zombie hex on me, because have you seen the horrible things she says to me? (I think these evil zombie birds are HER doing. Don't trust the pale people with the lilting accents. Accch.)
*Anyone know how to keep The Smartest Raccoons in the World™ out of my fucking green bins and garbage Rubbermaid™ thingy? They both offer a hole/lock/anti-varmit device and EVERY NIGHT, the fucking raccoons raid my green bins and occasionally get into my Rubbermaid™ garbage storage thing. I've tried staking it with a bamboo lock, bricks and trying to kill them with my cooking. NOTHING works. I have spent DAYS trying to out think these stripy smarties and I ADMIT IT, I CAN NOT. I hate waking up to a sideyard full of grody compost or even (gag) garbage, but these raccoons are apparently at Kumon every week, learning how to best the idiot homeowners in the neighborhood. And to think, the husband almost let one in the house one night.
**Please make sure my epitaph reads "Zombie Birds Were Responsible for My Death. All Hail Scooby Doo!" Or "Kimber Was Awesome. Until the Zombie Birds Pecked out Her Brains."
Tomorrow, I am going for another hellish delightful hike with my old longtime friend. Am hoping the Zombie Birds don't speak to the Canadian geese at the quarry. They already threaten me for bread. I can't handle much more stress from the wildlife.