I need to tell you about the goddamn geese.

For 4 years, the stench of summer was an earthy not so delightful gooseshit eau de toilette. Gaggles here, there, everywhere. All around the office nests were hidden, and hundreds of the little bastards would sprout in June, threading single file goose marches in circles around the property.

Naturally, this meant a lot of shit. Gooseshit comes in three varieties. wet splashy green, moist spongy green, and dry brown pellets. Everywhere.

Until finally, this year, I discovered a nonviolent method of preventing this horrible scourge. The fine for a dead or injured goose is $500 if I'm caught, by the way. They shouldn't be listed as endangered anymore, in my opnion.

I shoot bottle rockets, whistle and pop, squak and flap. It only took about three weeks before they stopped coming to feast on our dry, heat-harshed grass. Our parking lots suffer only from dead leaves, used condoms, and mysterious garbage bags full of cantalope shells now.

That makes me feel good about myself.
3:25 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm