May 31, 2019, 06:29AM

Can You Spare a Summer Coat?

A bird searches and finds nothing available for him in the anthro-centric world of vintage clothing.

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May I complain? Permission to complain? Seems like you have to ask for everything these days. I need a summer coat. You may ask, “Why? You’re covered in feathers. You must be very hot as it is.” Well, yes. This is true. Nonetheless, I suffer for fashion. I also need multiple pockets to put my sundries (phone, feed, licorice, nicotine supplements, keys, wallet, gun). So in the muggy months of May, June, July, August, September, and October, I must wear a coat. I wish I could go bare but I simply refuse to wear a backpack or even worse, a fanny pack (Bennington suggested I get one, claiming “they’re in again.” He was obviously being sarcastic but Monica didn’t pick up on it and went out and got me one that day. I will not wear it. This has caused me much trouble at home, but no, she didn’t hit me, I gave myself this black eye when I fell into a frying pan. I am a bird, but stupid still. Clumsy clumsy clumsy...)

Please don’t let my wife read this. I threw away the fanny pack and went out in search of a thin summer coat yesterday. I couldn’t find anything: it was all trench, denim, fleece. Have the denizens of rural Massachusetts ever even heard of a Seersucker suit? What about a straw hat? (I couldn’t buy one of those, stylish as they are, because I’d end up eating it in the store. It’s almost impossible to resist the aroma of fresh straw when it’s sitting right above your beak). I wandered around town, bought a small iced coffee and didn’t tip because they tried to chase me out with a broom before they realized I was a civilized bird—in their words “housetrained.” Disgusting. I won’t leave a negative Yelp review as it’s not in my nature, but I told Bennington about it, and he said he might make some of the employees there “pass away.” Whatever that means…

I couldn’t find a coat in town. There was a homeless man about to die of heatstroke on the side of the road, and I almost took his coat because a) it was vintage and authentically distressed, b) he wouldn’t need it for much longer, and c) it was linen. Was this man even homeless? How could he afford such a nice garment? But I didn’t take it, fearing exposure to TB or other antiquated ailments still known only to the poor.

I had to look online for a coat. And you know what? I couldn’t find a fucking thing anywhere! Why doesn’t Amazon have a clothing section for birds? They’re named after a RAINFOREST. Get it together, Bezos. I have some distant relatives in San Francisco (and I mean distant—they’re owls). Perhaps I should book a round trip to the city of Saint Frisco. I’ll surprise my wife. I love to surprise my wife. We can get vegan tacos and relapse and defecate in the streets. Oh! I won’t even have to buy a coat! So many dead homeless people in San Francisco. I’m not picky. I’ll take something with pee on it. Time to call my travel agent.

Maybe we’ll make a detour in Maryland on the way back and visit our new friend Emster… as long as those conniving cats of hers aren’t around.

—Follow Rooster Quibbits on Twitter: @RoosterQuibbits


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