I was walking back to my car after eating lunch at Wahoo’s. You were the freakish blond woman with head-to-toe augmentation (fake breasts, bad nose job, oversized swollen lips, unnaturally tan skin, probably an eating disorder) who caught my attention by waving your arms around and saying, “Shoo! Shoo!” Not knowing what had just happened, I went over to see if you needed any help. What was the emergency? A hawk had just attacked a pigeon. It was just doing what it naturally does: hunt. The pigeon was a goner, bleeding pretty badly. And yet you took the side of the overpopulated, disgusting pigeon! That poor, majestic Cooper’s hawk. He sat up on the light pole waiting for you to leave. All he wanted was to eat what was rightfully his. I don’t know what was more of a spectacle: nature taking its course, or you, the crazy lady with a newfound cause in life. You actually wanted someone to get help from the Petsmart store in front of where the incident took place! I should have asked you if your plastic surgeon was close by; he could have given the pigeon a Botox injection to help put it out of its misery.
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