Viva la revolucion!

By Jonathan Livingston
Seagull

Did you think I was kidding about the revolution?

After a golfer killed one of our own, and our subsequent lawsuit on behalf of birds everywhere was dismissed as frivolous by a series of circuit courts, we birds have decided to take matters into our own hands.

Yes. We're going to kill you all.

This is merely a warning shot, humans. You can read into the fact that the girl who was attacked on a tour of Fenway Park was named "Alexa Rodriguez" if you want, but I assure you this has nothing to do with our attacker's preference of team. In fact, I explicitly told Corky NOT to attack that particular girl, for fear of a misconstrued message.

Never let a hawk do a seagull's work. I know they're all majestic and what not, but despite those piercing talons and impressive soaring ability, they are dumb as birdshit.

Anyway, the revolution has begun. First, we will flood your American ballparks with our kind, flocking to haunt your sedentary and beer-consuming masses. Then we will enter your homes and eat your pet hamsters. Then, we will unite to fly into your car windshields. For years, you have wondered how we have avoided your motorized vehicles, and it's merely because we have chosen to avoid them, waiting for the time to be right.

The time is now. You will be powerless without functioning windshields. America will be ours!

As a baby bird, I remember how I felt the first time I watched Alfred Hitchcock bring our brilliant plan to the silver screen. I felt pride swelling up in my feathers. I knew that one day I would be at the forefront of a changed landscape. No longer will birds be tormented and slaughtered for trivial purposes.

It's time for a Flying V. We're coming for you, humans.

You're a bunch of peckers

By Jonathan Livingston
Seagull

For years, I have kept my beak shut.

There are many stages to grief, and many more when you consider the limited capacity of the average bird's brain. It's tough to move on when you re-realize every so often that you've lost someone you love. Eventually, of course, I coped with the death of my brother, Josiah, coming to terms with the possibility that his death was an accident.

But now, I have a partner in the cold, cruel world of birds vs. balls. And I refuse to hover idly by.

Some poor hawk was just minding its own business when a PGA golfer decided he would take it down with a 9-iron, bringing bird cruelty to a new level. As birds, we have been subjected to countless random acts of sports violence, merely for trying to survive in a world that -- let's face it -- doesn't exactly make it easy for feathered friends.

Which brings me to Josiah. I can tolerate the dissatisfaction with the general public in Detroit when we descend on the moths living in Comerica Park, and I can accept that nobody in Kansas City appreciates it when my neighbors The Buzzards start circling Kauffman Stadium in mid-July. But bird murder is another matter.

Surely, you all remember my brother as the dove killed in Tucson by a Randy Johnson fastball during 2001 Spring Training.



I can't even watch that video without tearing up. Suddenly, my brother was gone, reduced to a tuft of feathers and fractured bones. And what has happened since? Have there been memorials dedicated to this dove, who stood for peace and understanding? Have their been honorary first pitches or other pregame ceremonies recalling his memory? Of course not.

Instead, he's been the butt of jokes, featured on highlight reels and video packages, usually accompanied by a giggling John Kruk, with relish dripping off his chin as he clumsily smears it away. Randy Johnson saunters around with his long hair and strangeness, completely unrepentant of his crime. Everyone thinks it's funny!

Well, no longer. I have been inspired by the murdered hawk, and I officially file legal suit against Randy Johnson, the Arizona Diamondbacks, Major League Baseball, SportsCenter, YouTube, John Kruk, and humans in general. I hope you're all prepared for a fight.

Ooh! Is that birdseed?!