The tale of good old Rawk
Rawk the wizen pigeon emerged from the rubble. his perch was reduced to rubble just one day before. Funny how earthquakes can do that to certain train station buildings. Twenty six hours Rawk had to sit there trapped. The first five minutes were panic. Then fifty five minutes of acceptance. Then twenty hours of despair and waiting.
Then there was four hours of enlightenment, probably due to hunger and a thinness of oxygen. In this four hours Rawk encountered a vision. He found it strange because every pigeon knows that you have visions, you don't encounter them. This must not have been his own vision, but one of a creature so powerful that it could summon it's visions.
"You look like a blue and purple version of me with a few extra ounces of size. What are you?" Squawked Rawk.
"I HAM HIMPORTANT. YOU H'ARE HIMPORTANT. YOU MUST SURVIVE. YOU MUST TELL PIGEONKIND OF WHAT'S IMPORTANT. JUST INCASE THEY'VE FORGOTTEN."
"Whoat?"
"TELL THEM. TELL THEM WHAT YOU KNOW H'IS HIMPORTANT TO YOU, TO THEM TO THE WORLD. TELL THEM SO THAT THEY CAN PASS H'ON YOUR WORDS TO HOTHERS THEY MEET SO THAT HEXPONENTIAL GROWTH OF YOUR WISDOM IS HACHIEVED AND THUS, THE PIGEON CAN THRIVE."
"But... What's important?"
"TWENTY FIVE HOURS YOU HAVE BEEN HERE. DURING YOUR FIRST FIVE MINUTES OF PANIC WHAT DID YOU WANT? WHY DID YOU WANT WHAT YOU WANT? YOU HALREADY HAVE THE HANSWERS! NOW GO FOURTH AND HEDUCATE THE WORLD!" The vision then turned into the world just before disappearing, which thrilled Rawk with the revelation that the world was round, not like a rectangle with teleportation devices at the edges.
Powered and inspired by this knowledge and quest, Rawk set to struggling and bravely persevered for forty five minutes. And got nowhere. His feet were neatly pinned by the devices that thwart pigeons from hanging out under train stations: The ouch-spikes.
Suddenly Rawk had a glimpse of his first memory. He was terrified and the first thing he saw was two black beasts chew on a wailing smaller grey beast. He stayed hidden whilst peeping under his half a shell that had fallen on the floor. He noticed how easy it was for the beasts to peck through the now silent grey beast. Then he realised that the two big beasts weren't beast's at all. They were Mam and Dad! He called to them whilst pushing the eggshell from on top of him. "Rawk" they said and they picked him up and took him to their nest.
That's it! That's what Rawk had to do. He had to bite through his legs. He'd seen some older pigeons that had only one foot but he always had too much respect to ask them what happened. Rawk now looked at his legs and went to work on his left, getting as close to the ankle as possible whilst minding that an ouch-spike didn't poke his eye out. The harder he bit, the more pain he was in, which resulted in him biting harder to deal with it. The pain was fierce but he'd pecked himself a stump. Now it was time for the more awkward right foot. Two ouch-spikes to avoid, one protruding towards his face. He had to bend around in an uncomfortable position to get to his ankle, and even then an ouch-spike scratched at his breast. Rawk remained committed and cut through, leaving him with two stumps and a red line etched diagonally across his breast.
But at last he was free! And the freedom of flying came with a pang of mighty hunger. He stuck to the plan and flew to the nearest and most popular city centre. Then his mission took a back seat while he pecked at loose chips and seeds and cigarette buts, making sure to eat the edible things and discard the litter.
When his hunger was satiated the mission took the front seat once again. He flew for twenty seconds and the mission took another back seat while Rawk flew to a roof of a building, carrying a leaf of newspaper. He huddled into a corner, hiding under the paper and balanced neatly on his sore breast and he slept, dreamless.
Basic need fulfilled he flew back to the city centre and positioned himself under the large, black, unmoving, wingless beast (statue) and called to his kin.
With his wings akimbo and his eyes passionately closed he squawk the words:
"Fellow pigeons, hear me. I am Rawk and I have to tell you what you are here for. You see i nearly died yesterday but i was inspired and saved by the vision of something incredible. The vision sent me on an hurgent path to tell you all what's himportant! You must all listen to my words and be reassured lest you have forgotten what is significant in life!"
Rawks confidence grew with his words and he opened his eyes. The sight deflated him but he kept his wings out. No pigeon was listening. They were all bobbing on the ground looking for some food. Rawk looked at his stumps and his scar to remind himself of the severity of his life. He then looked out again.
"I will persist, for you may hear this even though you may not be listening. You all have beautiful lives and you must never forget this. Please know that what im about to tell you is imperative to our way of life and you must never forget it!"
As he said this a wingless beast threw some delicious bread to the ground and stirred his crowd into a frenzy. Rawk smiled. He realised that they already lived what he was about to say.
"Pigeons" Rawk commanded impotently, "Just coo what you need to coo!" And with that, he flew off for some free bread.
*****
A Pigeon's Religion
Herein I shall endeavour to relay to you the TRUE nature of the faith-leanings of our winged cousins. All efforts should be made to shield yourselves from the widespread showering of ill-informed dreck which is being ploughed into you wholesale by none other than THE MAN. This is the only true pigeon's religion. Disbelieve all others.
As everybody well knows, the path to pigeon heaven can only be discovered by the enlightened and educated pigeon-fathers of The Cult of Curiosity (TKTC). Here I will explain the, to the outsider, peculiar tic which infiltrates the faithful when they talk of The Cult of Curiosity (TKTC). The suffix '(TKTC)' which MUST ALWAYS follow the name of The Cult of Curiosity (TKTC) is an honorific which, when fully revealed, reads 'They Killed the Cat'. The cat has always been a fearful demon to the pigeon community, and The Cult of Curiosity (TKTC) became the renowned force they are today by proving their divinity, by the slaying of the cat. Word of their deeds is has even been seen infiltrating the world of the speaking-monkeys, though quite clearly they do not fully appreciate it's import. The Cult of Curiosity (TKTC) is the One True Way to pigeon heaven.
The Cult of Curiosity (TKTC) was founded by SkKwarr Flangeahgh, who was subsequently canonised as Saint Rupert, The Planner of the Killing of the Cat. He was a very clever pigeon. The miraculous deeds of his youth are popular yarns at the stolen-chip parties of all the teen pigeons. Perhaps the most widely spake is the Tale of the Mocking Jumbo. The story is a long and shaggy beast, but in the interest of time I will inform you that the denouement involves old Saint Roop stealing a jumbo sausage from a fatty at Brighton Pier, tossing it into the sea, and then returning to gloat. Such malice was the frequent vice of Saint Rupert, which proves that he was the ideal candidate for plotting the killing of the cat.
But it is not Saint Rupert himself who did the deed. Nonononononononononono. It fell to a much younger piggyjin to Do the Deed. Her name was Gfarreeelezzkuhbaaahhwwn. It was she who slew the feline. She was a celebrity in the pigeon world long before the act which is unambiguously considered the zenith of her activity. She was Champion of the Order of the Oncoming Car, High-Priestess of the Movement of the Toilet-Statues, Full-Caan of the Stolen Chip. It was she who slew the feline.
Cats are near impregnable, this is well known. The inner layers of the cat may be wet, weak and greasy like reheated cottage pie, but it's thick outer crust is firmer than any natural material known to pigeon. It is said in the holy manual of the Order of the Oncoming Car that even if a pigeon's beak attains maximum velocity and is tipped with the Diamond Nib of Gwak Lv. 5, still it is not a sure thing that the cat will be scratched. A pigeon will sooner break through superadamantanium than a cat's shell.
But therein lay the rub. The true genius of Saint Rupert, and the impeccable skill of Gfarreeelezzkuhbaaahhwwn, who was able to perform the deed.
Much like the Death Star, every cat is known to have a small, vulnerable aperture which, if it can be breached, will spell the end of it. Saint Rupert discovered this, and calmly, evilly, he drew his plans against it. This is how it went down.
First they scared the cat. Different pigeon factions disagree vehemently on the method used for the distraction. It is very important how it was done. Pigeons are often killed for believing the wrong way. It is right that they should be put to death. ONE TRUE WAY.
So, yes, they distracted the cat. It was done with a scary picture of a screaming dog. The picture was dive-bombed into the cat's vicinity by a magpie POW who'd been promised her freedom for doing this task. Afterwards, she was freed. What I mean by this, of course, is that she was freed from life by the merciless fangs of a cat. Duly distracted by its meal, the cat did not see the sure descent of Gfarreeelezzkuhbaaahhwwn.
WHOOOOOOOOOSH!
She buried herself bodily in the anus of the cat, not even a smidgeon of her pigeon toes remained in sight. Well, let me tell you, the cat was surprised. She began to caper around the garden, mewling and screeching. "Shut up, you bugger!", a nearby monkey yelled. But still, on she went, wailing and careening hither and thither in the greenery.
Have you ever wondered what it might feel like to have an entire pigeon forcibly dive-bomb its way twixt your innards? Let me tell you, the idea only occurred to me roughly halfway through this story, and I wish it hadn't. It seems to me that there are few more horrendous end-game scenarios than having a small, ugly bird wedged in your intestines. If you can imagine it, stretch yourself further and imagine how bad a cat would feel in the situation, possessing as it does, a much smaller beefhoop than you.
The cat died. Not from shock or anything short term like that. No, the cat spent the best part of 3 months uncomfortably smudging around, being poked fun at by the other cats, who knew full well what Tibbles was concealing in her faecal womb. A grown up pigeon. Gfarreeelezzkuhbaaahhwwn died on impact, thank goodness gracious, but she took her sweet time rotting. She slowly souped into a green, deathly sleeper cell which poisoned the living cat from within. Sleeper cell, more like sleeper smell! (hysterical laughter and applause).
This is a pretty horrible story. In the end, all the pigeons went to heaven, where there were lotsanlots of stolen, traditional British food for them to gorge on, and they did. The Ned.
*****
Hello and welcome to the new format blog entry from ACRE member Luke ‘Handsome Boy Aint He’ Sampson, wherein I actually try to write a fucking blog and not leave it months and months before writing one (even if the one I write is in fact funnier than the other threes combined efforts for the entire year). So apparently some arsehole decided that the first entry would be titled ‘a pigeon’s religion’. I have no idea what that even means because I don’t know two of those words already and I’ve eaten the other one so there. Anyway, I thought I would give it a go and see where it goes (hopefully a tunnel to the bottom of a tub of meatballs in Subway…mmm).
Let me first try to make sense of the word that I do know, Pigeon. This is not to be mistaken with the flying rodent that congregate around Ponty square and plot about shitting on poor, defenceless OAP’s and passing avian flu on to sickly, pale children. They are to my knowledge called Pijuns, which is a homophone of Pigeon but sadly that is where the similarities end (and no I don’t mean a Blackberry Curve or a Samsung Galaxy, a homophone is when two words sound the same, fucking idiot). No, a Pigeon is of course a measurement of time. This is plain to see if we look closer at the word. Segment the word into two and we have: Pig, a farm yard animal usually kept for meat and recreation and Eon, a long time. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Ye, stupid, we can all see that it is two words and we know what both of them mean but what does the word mean put together, div?”
Well, it is clearly the largest amount of time imaginable by a pig (or a billion years whether the pig likes it or not, whichever comes first). But to really fathom just how large we need to look at how a pig perceives the other three dimensions in his life (because time is the forth dimension, not fucking wind or snow or cold seats like Ice Age will try and have you believe, smug cunts). To do this I put 100 pairs of 3D glasses on 100 pigs then made them watch The Avengers. The results were very surprising. After only an hour of the film half the pigs had fallen asleep (or comma, I’m not a doctor of animals), about five per cent had started screwing and the rest were rooting for Loki to win. When I put this through my fancy computer programme it told me that the reason for this was that pigs see 3D in super slow motion which was making the film very boring (except for the Loki bits). With this in mind I was able to come up with an hypothesis on the Pigeon. It is as follows:
A Pigeon is a very long time. Too long in the opinion of the pig. It’s like watching Titanic or the new King Kong when you’re already tired. It transcends time as a linear factor and takes into account the emotional state of the pig. As a term to be used by humans it would be the expression of something taking longer to do than you have the energy for at that particular time. Like sex before breakfast.
So, being pleased with my understanding of the word Pigeon I have pondered as to its relevance in the title. But having still no idea what the other two words mean I decided to do some research. And wouldn’t you bloody know it, I found the word religion. Apparently it refers to a group or organization that all follow a set of rules that were laid out by someone called God. They do the same things all the time except for a Sunday (or a Friday if they are the curly haired ones) when they have a rest and pat themselves on the back for getting tickets to see God in concert. From what I can see the title cannot be referring to the Muslim ones because they think pigs are filthy (which they are, that’s a fact rather than a religious pillar). If I didn’t know any better (which I do) I would say the title makes more sense with Pijuns since they are organized and terrorists. But, alas, it is not so I’ve taken my research along a different path. I asked some famous people from ‘religion’ what was the longest thing imaginable to judge which of them had feelings most closely resembling a pig.
First up was Big Bad Ratigan from the Vatican, Pope Benedict 16th. His idea of a pigeon was absolution. He felt that it would take more time than he had energy to forgive all the sinners in the world (which is fair enough since it would take several days just to cover the wanks I’ve had writing this entry). Next to be put on the hot seat was Dai Lama, King of the Buddhi. He said it was a pigeon to eat solid food after midday. I understood what he meant straight away because I remembered Napoleon Dynamite trying to feed him in that film he was in and he was having none of it (although he looked a lot better after a shave I must say). Lastly I spoke with a strange magician on the street called Henry Christopher. He had an haircut like Tung Po from Kick Boxer and wore a shit pair of jeans under his costume. Also he said that he wasn’t greedy which was a lie because we was eyeing up my pasty pen (details to be revealed at a later date) the whole time I was eating it/writing with it. Anyway, he said that he always had energy to do all the tasks that needed to be done (possible ADHD) but that people he stopped in the street often said that it was a pigeon to even contemplate stopping for him (I would agree with this).
So the religion that was most pigeon was the Henry Christophers because if nobody is willing to stop for them, they have no flying hope of following them (especially on one of their stupid conga lines through town). All that was left to get to the bottom of the title was the word ‘A’. Now, unfortunately, I checked the dictionary and discovered that the word ‘A’ does not exist. It’s just not in there. Therefore, after all that research, I have had to discontinue the investigation so I guess we will never know what was meant by ‘A Pigeon’s Religion’.
*****
Dafydd Evans
Adam Gilder
Luke Sampson
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