It is clear in these modern days that almost everything is designed to stretch societies and cultures apart. Racial hostility, political partition and the cloning of Waldo are all subjects that tend to fragment the major population into ignorant nomads traveling from town to town searching for food (McDonalds) and resources (Old Navy). The recognition of this truth, however caustic it might appear, prompted me to discover a common ground to which even The Hamburglar and the Taco Bell Chihuahua could have a meaningful conversation. This ground lies in a realm of disgust, of pure debasement; the place where people get crapped on by birds. Now I know it’s fowl (sick pun), but it is true that everyone, no matter where they are, has either heard or experienced a time where a bird dropped explosive bombs on another human being. The connection that these tales can produce between people is not only immense but also smelly.

Think about the profound connection! First, it brings everyone down to the same level. When an aviary creature dumps a load on you, it sinks you to the lowest level, almost as low as Louie Anderson’s self-esteem after he left “Family Feud.” Nothing so simple or so abrupt can bring someone down as much as a time when some creature let loose all over your skull. Since everyone has at least spectated such a breaking down of ego, it is an ideal starting point for people to start at when meeting one another. There is very little that can prompt a stronger connection than commiseration. Misery shared is most definitely still misery, but with free unlimited breadsticks and salad.

Of course, no matter what the context, any time a winged weapon of choice strikes someone, it is humorous. Even the most simple, “A bird shit on me,” is quite funny. I am convinced that nothing will ever be as funny as poop, except maybe a poop with a monocle and waxed moustache. Share this laugh with another person. Humor can strike a powerful connection. The next best thing would be sewing yourselves together. Sure it seems glamorous and sure, the ladies love it, but when you wake up one morning surrounded by crying children, drunk in a Chuck E. Cheese’s ball pit and sewn to a transsexual Sherpa, you’ll want a separation. Nothing brings people together like humor, and that is why anyone who reads this article will stay 50 yards away from me at all times.

Lastly, it is the generality of the excreting experience that truly makes it the unifier on all levels. Everyone has experienced these anal assassins in some form, whether at the beach or at a fair or even in the comfort of your own home. I am convinced that I could actually hold a conversation with a man raised by wolves in space or even a science major that never leaves Rush Rhees if we began talking about how Big Bird crapped on me one time after eating bad Mexican. Everyone has been there. Everyone has seen it. But not everyone tilts their heads to the sky and tries to catch it in their mouths.

I conclude this tirade with a plea that people start discussing such trivial things so that I don’t seem so absurd. Just reading this article will begin the bird-marinating-you-with-feces talk and that is my goal. It is more powerful than you’d think. Who knew that crap could bring such joy? Exactly what I say about “American Idol.” And I think I speak for the birds when I say please don’t wear hats because it’s funnier when shit splatters in your hair.

Stahl is a member of the class of 2009.

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