Putting The Pud In Liverpudlian

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Memo to Liverpool, England: YOU ARE DUMB.

Sorry, but that's the last of the goodwill you get from us over here for spawning the Beatles. You people have taken embryo-fetishism to a level almost unmatched in our own pigfucker nation. I'd say unmatched, but, you know. We got Sam Alito as a SCOTUS nominee this week, so we still edge you out by a nose.

But Liverpool comes close. Last week, dozens of local citizens brought flowers, cards, notes, and little stuffed animals to a back alley where, just recently, the police had been called to investigate a tiny corpse found there.

The scene was heartwrenching. The grief was profound. The corpse was a chicken fetus.

The person who found it apparently thought it was a human fetus, which somehow pulled a Wombdini and expired in the alley. Police were notified, word spread amongst the public, the human instinct for gratuitous tragedy kicked in, and voila. A shrine to an omelette.

Unfortunately, the British press has failed to provide me with wonderful quotes from weeping residents as they lay down their bouqets for the poor little McNugget, with one exception - a card left behind that says it all, really. ACTUAL CHICKEN FETUS CARD TIME!

"RIP Little Baby. Safe in the arms of Jesus. From someone who is a loving mother xxxx."

I can only assume the x's on the end aren't meant to represent Liverpudlian chicken-scratchings, but rather, four loving pecks from a mother to a lump of dessicated poultryplasm. It's good to know that the chicken is in the arms of Jesus, but I'm not sure "safe" is the right word, especially if Jesus gets a little peckish. I'm guessing the Son of God knows all eleven of the Colonel's secret herbs and spices.

What I love best about the story is one lone report that states despite the police telling everyone it's a chicken, "rumours persist in Anfield schools, pubs and in taxis that it was a baby dumped by its mother". That is, of course, classic human stupidity in action.

People who would otherwise not spend five minutes questioning authority when authority tells them that, say, Iraq has WMD, or that the guy shot in a London subway was wearing a bulky jacket with wires sticking out of it, suddenly decide the word of the police is no good when they tell folks they just dropped a teddy bear off to comfort a chicken corpse. And why bring a teddy bear, anyway? If they'd brought fries and a drink, at least then we could make a Happy Meal.

For that matter, the whole "leaving little trinkets and ribbons at the tragedy site" thing is starting to get out of hand. Yes, I know these little mourning rituals serve to help a community deal with their grief, but even assuming it had been a human fetus, just because you happen to live near something awful happening doesn't mean you have to leave a bunch of crap behind for someone else to clean up. Remember. If you don't give a hoot, you won't pollute.

Sure, it's the wrong kind of bird, but unlike Liverpool, at least I got the class right.