On the third day of Christmas

This story is completely true.

Only not.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three French hens. She's given me three french hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. I am not sure where she is finding all these strange birds, or why she thinks that birds are such a great Christmas present. If I had known I would be dating the bird lady, I would have never asked her to dance in that bar in Atlantic City.

I am at my old friend's house while he is at work. I feel incredibly sad right now, and I am not sure why. I think that it might be one of the symptoms of Avian Bird flu, although I have not visited Web MD and therefore cannot be completely sure of that. Anyway, I've been hanging out with the turtle doves and the French hens and drinking some Natural Light. Also, while I was rummaging through my old friend's medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills that were in there. That probably isn't healthy, but I haven't visted Web MD and therefore cannot be completely sure of that.

I grab another Natty Light and sit back down on the couch. The two cages carrying all the birds are on opposite ends of the couch. I look at the TV, and the picture seems very fuzzy to me. It takes me a little while to realize that the TV isn't on. I look around for the remote, but I can't find it anywhere. So I give up. This is a giant waste of time.

"What a fucking terrible Christmas this has been," I mutter to myself

"Ah, ce n'est pas aussi mauvais."

What the hell was that? I look over at the bird cage and I see one of the French hens staring back at me.

"What did you say?"

The French hen walks up to the front of the cage and sticks it's head through the bars.

"Désolé. I said, eet eez not so bad."

I look at the French hen, who seems to be a lot bigger than his two cage-mates. I scoot over and sit closer to the cage and peer down at the little bird who is bigger than the others.

"Speak for yourself, you're not the one who got fucking birds for Christmas."

"Ah, but at least you are not in zee cage."

The bird has a point.

"You have a point."

"Oui. Zings are only as bad as you make zem out to be."

I stare at the Hen, who has suddenly turned purple.

"You know, I think I'm probably fucked up, and I'm not really talking to you."

"Zat is possibly true."

"I think this is all in my head."

"Zat is also possibly true."

This bird is very Zen.

"Hey, why don't your friends say anything?"

"Ils sont stupides.. You wouldn't want to listen to zem anyway."

Good point. Listening to multiple birds talk isn't one of my talents.

"I think I'm going to stop talking to you now," I say to the French hen.

"Oh, it was a pleasure speaking with you," the French hen says back to me, taking a bow.

"Same to you. Merry Christmas."

"Au revoir!"

I watch the French hen walk through the cage and fly through ceiling. It soars higher and higher, above the trees and the buildings. I watch until it disappears into the clouds, and I continue staring at the clouds wondering if I'll see the bird again, but I don't. I turn back and stare ahead at the TV screen. The Flintstones are on the TV, dancing with Beavis and Charlie Brown, to the soundtrack for Evita, sung by Tito Jackson. I can't remember how the TV got turned on, but I feel like this is the most amazing show I've ever seen.

This is the weirdest present ever.