Josh Sippie

               I watched a pigeon trying to fuck another pigeon. It flared up its neck to look like shimmering purple chainmail and cooed all up on the other. Beautiful shit, if you’re into nature and romance. But then the horny pigeon sees this folded pizza crust and walks all coolly over to it, acting like it’s just part of the routine. But the other pigeon, the one hoping to get fucked, or playing coy, or something of that sort, figures that something is up and looks over and is all like, that’s the good stuff, that’s a Joe’s pizza crust. 

               And they’re just going at it, ripping the crust, tearing the crust, boxing each other out like Shaq and The Admiral fighting for a rebound and forgetting all about the sweet, sweet lovemaking they were about to engage in because survival is at stake, and then they look at each other, their heads bobbing back and forth like they’re dodging metaphysical jabs, and they go at each other like two spurred cocks in an underground ring. And there’s this puff of dust like you only see in cartoons, and I can’t see what’s going on anymore, but I hear them cooing and cawing and the pizza crust is sitting there, distinctly uneaten and enough to fill up at least four score and seven more pigeons, but those two don’t care, and they just keep going at it until the dust clears and then I see that their fight, if it ever even was a fight, has turned into a fierce lovemaking session and let me tell you, pigeons know how to get it. 

               Somewhere along the way, Grimace (that’s what I’m calling the big, shiny purple pigeon) hops off and sort of bows to Mathilde (that’s the other pigeon) and they both turn towards the pizza crust and peck away like civilized scavengers and, once they’ve eaten their fill, they put out the call and the entire pigeon flock comes in and starts bickering over this pizza crust and the original savage bastards turned sweet lovers turn to each other and fly off together.