The Common Wren

This is a wren. Wrens are small passerine birds living pretty much all over the world. They eat insects and sing chirpy songs with no lyrics. They are plentiful and mostly inconspicuous.

If you look out your kitchen window right now, you will find one sitting quietly on a branch outside thinking about how it wants to tear the flesh off your face and use your hair for its nest.

Rooster Feathers: An Exposé

You've seen them around your local mall or 7-11: adolescent girls and their moms with something stripey hanging from their heads sort of looking like hair but weirder and crimpier. I can't remember when I found out they were rooster feathers, but I remember that the day I went to a neighborhood birthday party and saw a five-year-old and her septegenarian grandmother sporting rooster-feather extensions, I knew this trend had hit it big, at least on my cul-de-sac.

You can buy a four-pack of natural or artifically hued feathers for about $12.99 and superglue them to your own hair, or you can go to a salon and pay $100 or whatever for them to put them in with little clippies. Either way, you'll end up with stripey crimpy things hanging from your head.

But listen. There are two problems with the rooster-feather hair extensions, besides any potential aesthetic ones.

1. Fly fishermen are getting pissed off because their daughters and their daughters' babysitters are using all their rooster feathers.

2. Roosters are running out of feathers.

This is a problem. I mean, on the one hand, you just can't thwart a teenage girl's right to follow trends blindly until the next one rolls along. On the other hand, I saw "A River Runs Through It," and fly-fishing looks great, especially when Brad Pitt circa "A River Runs Through It" is doing it. Also, we like eggs, and don't you need roosters for eggs?

Well, we at they want to kill us have spent a lot of time thinking about this situation and have come up with a pretty good solution: rooster-feather-hair-extension fly-fishing.

Up next: Have your eye on that sassy, sparkly owl necklace at Forever 21 but just can't meet the price? New do-it-yourself ideas right at home!

Hummingbirds: Giant Urban Killers

Hummingbirds are the smallest bird in the world and have no sense of smell. They can rotate their wings in a full circle and are the only bird that can fly backward, forward, up, down, sideways, and in hover mode. Hummingbirds can beat their wings up to 200 times per second and dive 60 miles an hour during courtship. I've seen this. They do it out my back window, showing off for the fancy lady hummingbirds. It's amazing.

But also amazing is a phenomenon taking place in urban centers around the world: GIGANTIC HUMMINGBIRDS ARE ATTACKING HUMANS!




The scene above is in Lyon, France, where the oversized hummingbirds were first witnessed. Fortunately, the Frenchies featured in this photo were able to dart stylishly into the nearest café and take solace in Gauloises cigarettes, adorable little demitasses of espresso, and Johnny Hallyday tunes with no harm done.

The next incident took place in Köln, Germany, when a pair of young Aryan backpackers were dive-bombed while coolly and fastidiously appraising an old-timey war statue.




Unfortunately, Albrecht Herzkreislaufwiederbelebung and Margit Verantwortungszuständigkeiten were unavailable for comment, as they were killed. Margit's mother, Hildegarde, when asked about the incident, responded, "Ein beiläufiger Stroll durch das verrückte Asyl zeigt, dass Glaube nichts prüft."

Things were quiet for a few weeks until another, seemingly related event occurred in Yinchuan, China.




Young Nianzu was out for a stroll with his Ye Ye when this gigantic hummingbird, looking suspiciously similar to the avian predator in Germany, swooped down and grabbed little Nianzu in its weak feet, which are usually used just for perching. It is unknown what happened next as we do not speak Japanese or whatever.

The most recent and, let's hope, final attack hit a little closer to home last summer.



The winged sociopath struck again, this time on a warm and unnaturally hued sunny day in New York City. The hummingbird dive-bombed Washington Square, possibly in an attempt to impress a beautiful young Manhattanite wearing a confusingly bright purple silk shell from Loehmann's, and hit its head on the central fountain. After some brief twitching, it flopped to its side, released its bladder, and died. Its last words were "Rosebud."

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