When a Crow shits on your black suit.
Crows are wonderful creatures, they yap around at random objects, they’ll gather around random pieces of food to keep the environment safe from pollution, and occasionally they’ll shit on you to remind you of how lucky you are of being so worthy of their poop.
Crows have shitty aim, as is widely regarded. What they also have is a knack for shitting on people to bring about a feeling of good luck.
What can be learned from this mystical superstition is the wonderful desire we all have to feel fulfilled; when a crow shits on you, you know good luck can’t be too far behind.
After this shitty-crow situation, I decided I’m going to pursue Crow-Adoption.
Luring them in by leaving thinly sliced pieces of prime quality Angus Beef, when they all divulge to devour the piece of meat; I slowly hone in and save these little rascals from impending doom of hunter Eagles.
I’ve never been much of a crow person, personally I’ve never had much love for Birds ever since my Parrot died — only to later discover in life that the parrot I’d grown to love had been replaced twice by my dear parents, because they kept escaping.
These crows won’t be escaping though, as they’ve grown to love; developing this Stockholm Syndrome type affection towards me.
They bother me at night, keeping me from sleeping.
But I know they mean well.
Crows are after all, lucky poopers.
I’ve decided to release a well-fed grown-ass crow each week into oblivion to unleash poop havoc on unsuspecting down-on-their-luck humans. So they they may too share the good-luck brought on by the mystical crow-poop.
It’s high quality poop, I’ve assessed it myself.
No other meat produces better crow-poop than one resulting from digesting Angus beef, it has the right depth and consistently so as not to penetrate the fabric upon which it lands but rather cling to it — much like a lover would.
Oh God, I wish I had a lover.
Who needs lovers though, when you have crows that will poop on you unconditionally.
It’s my service to the world of people that feel un-lucky.
As there’s nothing better than the humble reminder of being pooped on by a crow as it flaps its wings and cries out “Croak Croak, you lucky motherfucker!”
P.S. Shout-out to my local laundry for helping me master the art of wiping any evidence of Crow-Poop from my favourite Black Suit.