glumshoe:

mugwomps:

glumshoe:

ghostie-face:

glumshoe:

The annual infestation of robins has begun. Each year they arrive here en masse, roosting in our trees and gorging themselves on fermented crabapples and berries. Some of them get completely hammered and fall out of trees or fly into the walls of our house. I haven’t had to rescue any so far this year, but it’s only a matter of time. Each time I step outside to gather firewood, I am greeted by the loud hum of hundreds of wings as they scatter in every direction in a drunken panic.

I’M REALLY FUCKING TIRED AND I THOUGHT THIS WAS SOME REALLY WEIRD BATMAN SHITPOST

“Hello? 911? Jason Todd just threw up on my roof. Please advise.” 

We have had to rescue our cats from drunk and belligerent robins who found fermented pyracantha berries a treat – robins too drunk to stand up, let alone fly, but are perfectly willing to take on confused and horrified cats, one-on-one. Or, failing that, to take a nap on the cat.

liquid courage: now in bird form