Fucking pigeons.

As the weather here is so unbe-fucking-lievingly hot I've been forced to throw my windows open to the world to try to get the house down to a temperature that's more bearable.

This morning, however, I awoke to find two pigeons fucking on my bedroom shelf.

As the heat during the night had sapped my strength all I could manage was a halfhearted shout of "Get the fuck out!" in an attempt to shoo the flying fleabags away. This was ineffective. I lay on my bed feebly flapping my arms and legs in an attempt to freak them out but this was as useless as trying to stop a horny dog from humping your leg by tickling it's balls with a feather.

I began pelting the procreating pigeons with whatever lay within arms reach. After hurling two lighters at them and failing to put them off their stroke I resorted to the heavy artillery. A well aimed remote control later and they had abandoned their amorous activities and had absconded into the morning light.

Having dealt with the propagating pigeons I lay back down and attempted to get some more sleep. Twenty minutes later as I was drifting off into the land of nod I heard the "Coo" of a pigeon and opened my eyes to see the same two pigeons banging feathers on my shelf.

I yelled and began thrashing around on my bed like a man possessed but once more this didn't have any effect. I groped around for something to throw and lobbed the first thing that came readily to hand. I watched with horror as my throw went somewhat askew and my pack of cigarettes sailed out of my bedroom window and down into the back garden.

Then I lost the rag. I ignored the pigeons who were fucking on my shelf and dragged myself out of my bed. I walked to the livingroom, reached up to the top of my bookshelf and got a hold of my kevlar flak helmet and put it on. The next object I picked up was my cricket bat.

I walked casually back to my bedroom and stood in the doorway. "Ok pigeons, it's thumping time." I said, pointing at the pigeons with the fat end of a size 5 cricket bat. "I'm going to be fair here, I'll give you to the count of three to get your feathery fucking arses out of my bedroom." I said, and began counting.

"One... Two..." I paused. "Don't say I didn't give you a fair chance... Three. Ahhhhrghhhh!" I yelled like a soldier going over the top of a trench and attacked.

I lunged at the pigeons and time seemed to slow. I could see in the eyes of the top pigeon that a decision was in the process of being made. Luckily for the pigeons the desire to live outweighed the need to finish fucking and they took to flight and made for the window as I thrashed wildly with my cricket bat. In doing so I succeeded in knocking my hat collection off the opposite shelf and giving the shelf that the pigeons were fucking on a mighty whack.

I closed the window and crashed out on my bed like a whale dropped from a crane where I slept or lay dozing in the heat for the rest of the day.