I freely admit to riffing on Tools – Prison Sex for the title. It’s a rather dark song. So is my tale of pigeon sex.
Fucking Pigeons – Literally
I live on the 12th floor of a 15 story building. That means birds tend to fly at my level. They also tend to rest on balconies if they are tired. Unfortunately my balcony has become the pigeon fuck spot of choice.
Seeing how I am a monger I was cool with this. Who am I to judge? Pigeons or otherwise. That was until they started to coat my balcony full of pigeon shit. It looks like I have been raising the bastards with all the shit all over my balcony.
I should point out in my defence, to keep my aircon bill from spiraling out of control I kept my curtains closed. So I didn’t know any of this was going on until the day I went fuck this and opened them up.
Since the curtains have been opened I have figured out there are 3 pigeons in some sort of weird love triangle. They sit on the rail until I smash my hand against the balcony door then they take off.
One day I am sitting at my desk and I look out to the balcony and see one pigeon on the rail watching two pigeons that were just outside the window from me fucking like beavers. I’m like holy shit! You gotta be fucking joking. Hand to glass. Fuck them, I am not running a pigeon love motel in the heart of Jomtien.
Worst part is I pound the glass and the fuckers fly off, that is, until they see me gone and they circle right back around. It’s like a group of horny teenagers who finally got laid and can’t give it up and the worst part is the shit keeps piling up.
If I could honestly buy a pellet gun and get away with shooting them I would. Sadly I think the condo board would have issues with that and the restaurants and bars below me would also take umbrage.
No instead I am looking at installing some pigeon deterrent system for the rail or buying some screen mesh to enclose the balcony. The screen mesh isn’t my first solution because one of the reasons I picked here is because I have an amazing view.
For now, I am just stuck with pounding on the glass. As I write this my curtains are closed. I’m afraid to open them because I’m betting there is an orgy in progress on my balcony.