I was in the Condor Club and right next to me there were two chicks, a raven-haired beauty and a redhead. On a lark I decided that I wanted to chat, but I had to crane my neck to see 'em. I don't want to snipe or grouse, but when I turned around one of them was puffin away on a cigarette - I wanted to thrasher or at least rail about what a cuckoo she was for taking up this fowl habit. Instead of making a move I decided to listen in on the gulls. I was in the catbird seat, and got quite an ear full - I really couldn't believe what I was heron.
The woman with the black hair was named Barbet and her friend was Robin.
Barbet said, "Can you sparrow match?" Robin obliged. "Thanks. You know, that bustard Martin is a real loon. He asked if he could touch my tit - I said, 'What?' and he said he liked my booby - I told him to go fly a kite." "Yep, he's a creeper all right, and not too swift," Robin replied. "He wanted to goose me, that turkey. Look, Barbet, there he is, after Rhea!" "Owl tell ya', he'll egret it." [Barbet was British.] "She's a harpy and she won't quail at his advances - she'll wrap a nutcracker around his peewee - that'll be his swan song." "Yeah", said Robin, "But willet do any good?"
Jut then I saw Martin swallow hard, move over to Rhea, and try to dipper. Rhea flew off and took a swing, and Martin had to duck and he dove to the floor under the table bunting. There was a flicker in Rhea's eye. She came over to sing to Barbet and Robin. "Martin said that Jay told him I was easy...if I wouldn't give it away I'd at least wrentit!" "Oh, Rhea," said Robin, "that old coot Jay isn't worth your time, and if Martin doesn't straighten up soon they'll throw him down the nuthatch." "Either that or get a shoveler to bury the old buzzard - he's so yucky, harrier than a gorilla." "Yeah, those toucan go to Hell."
By this time I knew to say nothing and to not even try to be an avocet to their cause. My cardinal rule is to let the canary sing before you take your tern. I'm no rook or sapsucker and I didn't need an albatross around my neck, so I just stayed mute and walked away. Besides, the Falcon needed petrel - so I went to fill it up. At least I'd remembered to get cash out of the nightjar.
Teal we meet again, Brant Dunlin, signing off.
-- from Don Chalfant, Ann Arbor, Michigan
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