“Some have suggested a barrier is immoral. Then why do wealthy politicians build walls, fences and gates around their homes? They don’t build walls because they hate the people on the outside—but because they love the people on the inside.”—Donald Trump, January 8 Oval Office address
You! I see you. Don’t think I don’t see you. A good-for-nothing squab peeking at my custom-made birdbath through my tasteful birdbath wall. I see you daydreaming about splashing the backs of your little squab knees with water from my custom-made birdbath. I see you intimidating my sweet, helpless birds. There, now! What do you have to say for yourself?
How dare you even consider bathing in my stylish birdbath? I don’t care that you’ve flown hundreds of miles to enjoy my birdbath. I don’t care that you’ve endured endless suffering in the pursuit of a relaxing bath. Unguarded birdbaths are pipelines for all sorts of unsavory items like stray grains and low-quality worms.
Take a moment to inspect this birdbath, squab. See the tiny frogs? French. Each and every frog imported from France. See the cheeky hummingbirds carved into the base? Adorable. Expressive. It’s a family tradition, you see—elaborate birdbaths, that is. Imagine the chagrin of my ancestors if they were to catch a lowly squab bathing in MY birdbath.
That’s why I constructed this wall around my birdbath – to keep your kind out. Oh, some may say that constructing a wall around my birdbath is immoral. Look, it’s not that I hate you – although I heard about a squab attacking a mailman a few counties over, and you are most likely related to that squab. It’s just that I love my own sweet birds. It’s a crisis of the soul, really.
Could I have used the resources spent on building a wall to build a second birdbath? How dare you, squab! How did you even plan to fit your meaty squab body into my delicately marbled birdbath, anyway? There’d be no room for my own damn birds. They’d have to pop over to the Neatherys’ birdbath a few houses down. Old Man Neathery would be forced to manually refill the birdbath multiple times a day. The man has sciatica! How can you be so selfish?
So get away, ugly squab! Take your dingy feathers and tiny round head far away from my hand-sculpted birdbath and my beloved birds! Begone!
What’s that? You’d like to apply for a low-paying squab job that will ultimately help bolster my fortune? Okay, you can stay. Just stay out of the bath.
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Lillian Stone is a midwest-based journalist, bitter satirist and Boston Terrier wrangler. Her writing can be found in McSweeney’s and several midwestern lifestyle publications. Follow Lillian on Twitter at @originalspinstr