Today we have a special column just for the devoted reader(s) of The Not Really News Blog, a summarized sneak peak of the book of the century. A book nearly 40 years in the making, my return to the place of my childhood, all chronicled and ready for release some time before I die, I give you “Running Naked With Pheasants.”
It was early 2013 and I had finally had enough of the capitalist society which had spurned my every attempt to roost within its embrace. Despite have a college degree and being a licensed tradesman work was nowhere to be found, although some of that may have been due to my habit of defecating on freshly washed cars in the parking lot prior to interviews, it was a habit I couldn’t break no matter how much I tried. At this time I decided that I would contribute best by returning to the wilds of my childhood in order to protect my adoptive flock’s nests during the breeding season. My wife and children were very understanding and seemed more than happy to allow me to run off into untamed lands with nothing but a cell phone, a few cheese bagels, three pens, a notebook with waterproof cover, and my movie script “Of Birds and Men.” The dogs however, were pissed. This is the story of my 91 ½ days of returning the favor of life to the pheasants.
Day 1: I wave as my family drives away leaving me at the edge of the forest I grew up in. It was a tearful farewell, mainly due to the gravel sprayed into my eyes as they peeled out of sight. I swear they were swatting at each other and worried that a bee had gotten into the car. I then realized it is a bit early in the season for bees and they may have been high fiving each other enthusiastically for some reason. The gentle Washington mist was invigoratingly cool and refreshing as I jogged into the forest in search of my former flock.
Day 2: I’m an idiot, I had forgotten pheasants roost in trees. Sleeping on the ground was a huge mistake. I awoke drenched, covered in bug bites, and discovered a snake had crawled up my pant leg in search of… warmth, I think. The end result was me, running blindly through the underbrush and promptly losing my pants. Thorns and dead branches had shredded my undergarments, and gashed open my leg. The gash required me using my shirt as a bandage, I was effectively naked. I could have called the whole thing off by my cell phone was dead after an extended attempt to beat level 252 on Candy Crush. Damn you cardboard cutout looking people and your mocking ways.
Day 7: I have found the pheasants. None of them are the original birds I grew up with but I felt it was safe to recycle the names. Phineas Pheasant is a cocky rooster and we may have to settle things in drastic fashion. Penelope is obviously looking for a mate.
Day 11: I hate Phineas. I’ve taken to sleeping in the tree with them to help gain their trust. Phineas in turn sleeps on a higher branch and rewards me with a dropping in the ear every morning. He looks like he may become lunch.
Day 27: Phineas is starting to come around. Only one dropping this week. Penelope is screeching like madwoman. Phineas better move soon.
Day 34: Certain salamanders give Phineas diarrhea. This is NOT hair gel.
Day 40: Phineas has taken the hint from Penelope, thankfully I was spared this ritual as a child.
Day 54: No eggs yet, I think they’re making porn
Day 70: Wiiillllsooooon……
Day 85: Phineas must be sterile
Day 91: Do they make birth control for pheasants? This is bizzare.
Day 91 midnight: They’re still at it, Phineas changed his name to Ron Jeremy, I’m out of here.
Stay strong fearless reader(s), the book will get here someday.