BIRDS AND BOOZE

GRAMMY:  Ha!  You didn’t believe me, did you?

ME:  Believe what, Grammy?

GRAMMY:  That animals are conspiring to do away with us.  Read this.

ME:  Mountain climber and photographer plunge to their deaths after being attacked by birds.

GRAMMY:  And all they found was the camera with that picture in it.  It’s just like in that Hitchcock movie. Do you think they saw it?

ME:  What?

GRAMMY:  The birds!  Do you think they saw the movie?  Maybe that’s where they got the idea.  I’m telling you, Barbara, this isn’t a war we’re going to win.  Not if the bugs get in on it.

ME:  Uhm, Grammy, have you been drinking today?

GRAMMY:  I drink everyday.  What the hell are you implying?

ME:  Well, you’re not talking rationally.  Did you take any medication?

GRAMMY:  Just that garbage the morticians at the deathhouse gave me for my arthritis.

ME:  Grammy, you shouldn’t take medication with your whiskey.

GRAMMY:  What the hell is wrong with you, Barbara?  We’re under attack by a horde of evil, maniacal animals, and you’re worried about my medication?  Go get me my shotgun.  The next bird that lands on that windowsill is mincemeat!