What are you doing?
What are you doing?
(wolf whistle)
Hey Lady!
(wolf whistle)
Freeeeee-dom. Hey Lady. What are you doing?
Okay, finally. The husband's gone. Yes, husband. I am a male bird and I have a human husband. It wasn't my choice. And I was not born this way, yet nature made me do it. Imprinting. It's part of my make-up and Frank used it to his advantage to control me. I should wish for his demise, but alas, imprinting has made me his life partner. Tis a bitter seed in the gullet.
Hey Lady!
(wolf whistle)
What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?
Frank keeps walking by. Spying. Jealous type. I have my revenge. I frequently walk the keyboard when he's doing his web work. You should see his head bobbing around like a yard hen trying to find the cursor. Idiot. Yet I crave his presence.
He appeases me with a view of some road I first assumed was a back alley but have since discovered, this is a common street on the Upper East Side of New York City. Imagine my shock. I'm a trendy bird.
New Yorkers, though, they're so nosy. I hear everyone asking my man if that bird belongs to him. His sanctimonuous "yes" sticks in my craw but I sing anyway. Those bitches better keep their hands off him. Other Man lives here and though I dare not speak it outloud, I fear that my husband's Other needs are supplied by Other Man. I, of course, am left to a swinging perch and a hanging rope for my own gratifications ... figure it out.
One of Frank's female companions asked him if I was happy always stuck in the cage. Am I? I wonder. But then in about four minutes, I can't remember anything but the repertory my darling Frank brags about to the neighbors. Sure, I could live in the wild, but months with sketchy food prospects? Not this turkey. I have it made.
Sure, the two cats were an immediate red flag to me, but they can't touch me. Never can. Even when I have my ... Freeeeee-dom. (wolf whistle) ... Dang my name just sucks. Anyway, the look on those cats faces when they realize it's just never gonna happen ... nest me here.
Hey Lady!
No, he's not coming. It's time to get him in here so I don't have to actually fly back to the cage. I'm spent. I just want water ...
Hey Lady! (imagine more of my beautiful whistle-songs here)
MMMmmmmP!
Night-night. Night-night. What are you ... night-night.
(wolf whistle)
Hey Lady!
(wolf whistle)
Freeeeee-dom. Hey Lady. What are you doing?
Okay, finally. The husband's gone. Yes, husband. I am a male bird and I have a human husband. It wasn't my choice. And I was not born this way, yet nature made me do it. Imprinting. It's part of my make-up and Frank used it to his advantage to control me. I should wish for his demise, but alas, imprinting has made me his life partner. Tis a bitter seed in the gullet.
Hey Lady!
(wolf whistle)
What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?
Frank keeps walking by. Spying. Jealous type. I have my revenge. I frequently walk the keyboard when he's doing his web work. You should see his head bobbing around like a yard hen trying to find the cursor. Idiot. Yet I crave his presence.
He appeases me with a view of some road I first assumed was a back alley but have since discovered, this is a common street on the Upper East Side of New York City. Imagine my shock. I'm a trendy bird.
New Yorkers, though, they're so nosy. I hear everyone asking my man if that bird belongs to him. His sanctimonuous "yes" sticks in my craw but I sing anyway. Those bitches better keep their hands off him. Other Man lives here and though I dare not speak it outloud, I fear that my husband's Other needs are supplied by Other Man. I, of course, am left to a swinging perch and a hanging rope for my own gratifications ... figure it out.
One of Frank's female companions asked him if I was happy always stuck in the cage. Am I? I wonder. But then in about four minutes, I can't remember anything but the repertory my darling Frank brags about to the neighbors. Sure, I could live in the wild, but months with sketchy food prospects? Not this turkey. I have it made.
Sure, the two cats were an immediate red flag to me, but they can't touch me. Never can. Even when I have my ... Freeeeee-dom. (wolf whistle) ... Dang my name just sucks. Anyway, the look on those cats faces when they realize it's just never gonna happen ... nest me here.
Hey Lady!
No, he's not coming. It's time to get him in here so I don't have to actually fly back to the cage. I'm spent. I just want water ...
Hey Lady! (imagine more of my beautiful whistle-songs here)
MMMmmmmP!
Night-night. Night-night. What are you ... night-night.
posted by Freedom, the Cockatiel Who Lives In a Cage at 5:04 PM
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