ARE YOU GOING TO EAT ALL OF THAT, GREEDY HUMAN?

Sometimes the wall gets disproportionally surreal. Such as when the Architect is telling the Egg about a Grilled Pepper sighting while battling determined pigeons trying to steal his chips. We were fortunate that Pigeon Man did not drop by, as there is no question which side in that lopsided struggle he would have supported.
The only thing that could have made it more dada would have been the presence of Agent Left Testicle.

[Background: the wall is where cigar and pipesmokers hang out around mid-day in the Financial District. The Egg recently came back from New York. The Architect had a tuna-salad sandwich in addition to his bright yellow bag of Lays’ Potato Chips. Pigeon Man is a superhero and friend of Agent Left Testicle who wanders around the neighborhood. Grilled Pepper refers to a a very natty gentleman voted most likely to be at the top of a building with a high-powered rifle.  I am a pipesmoker.]


At one point the Architect charged at the lead fowl, who had tried sneaking up on his bag of Lays' Potato Chips while he was distracted. Even while being chivied by the now enraged Architect, the little fellow made determined feints at the prize.

Dude, share your damned chips! If you persist in making pigeons angry, one day they'll ambush you when you're all alone, and we'll only recognize your battered corpse by the shock of silvery hair, the stylish sunglasses, and the half-finished cigar.
Unless Pigeon Man finds you before we do.
He likes cigars.

Cuff links, dogs, and a dolphin were also mentioned.  But mostly Grilled Pepper.
Please imagine a musical trio: Grilled Pepper, Pigeon Man, and the Baron.

When the recounting of the sighting was over, discussion lagged a bit until one of the other people present came up with what must be the all-time greatest marketing idea in the world.


Airline bottles of Bourbon in every Happy Meal.
Seriously, Jim Beam should pair with MacDonalds.
This concept would appeal to EVERY demographic.


Heck, I might even go to Mickey D’s again if they did that!
The last time I went there was back in the very early nineties, and I still remember the nausea from struggling to digest the mess.
No, shan’t mention what I ordered.
Firstly because I am led to believe that many people succeed in keeping it down, secondly because I do not wish to be sued by a big evil food and compost conglomerate for slanderous statements about one of their very fine offerings, than which there is naught more scrumptious and soothing to the digestive membranes oh my yes.
Still, they need to provide liquor to their patrons.
As well as a pigeon-free cigar lounge.
Tobacco aids digestion.

POST SCRIPT

The pigeons did not succeed in snagging any chips at all, despite repeated attempts. Primarily because the Architect did not open the bag until he had finished his delicious tuna sandwich. After consuming the chips with evident enjoyment, much to the chagrin of several birds, he lit up a ferociously big cigar.

I’m guessing he’s not kissing anyone this afternoon.

Possibly excepting Pigeon Man.

Or Agent Left Testicle.

Cigar breath.

Feh.

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