Swab the poop-deck! I mean, literally...

Dear bird:

Why do you hate me?

First, you dive-bomb my car. Three times. Then my house, because the car wasn't enough.

I've never, EVER, hurt one of you avian fiends.

Just look at my deck. Those spatters hardly evoke relaxation.

Well, I thought I'd show you! I rented a three ton power washer. Painstakingly washed every inch of the deck, a back-breaking ordeal. It looked great!

Until an hour later when you unloaded again.

But this time, you changed up your diet. You discovered berries of some sort, some exotic fruit that apparently doesn't agree with your intestinal tract. Seriously, bird, you've got some messed up bowels.

Which leaves permanent purple stains no matter how hard I scrub.

Perhaps you discovered the dumpster behind Taco Bell?
 
I needed to seal the deck, but I couldn't until 48 hours. Out of options, low on patience, we put down a tarp. Ten minutes later...
Next, we planted a fake, scary owl. The fright made you unleash your pestilence even more.
We even tried balloons! With faces on them! While we look like neighborhood maniacs, you've found new friends.
Bird, do you guys have doctors? I mean, come on. Get some help. Just because you have irritable birdy bowel syndrome doesn't entitle you to take it out on me.

Speaking of irritants, have you heard about the supremely annoying demon with a comb-over? No? What're you waiting for? Click here by cracky for laughs with your scares!