Ask Blognigger: What the fuck did you just do to my pigeons?

Jesus, if I see another question about watermelon, black parents, black penis, black peanuts, black people, I'm gonna vomit. Unintentionally, I'm saying, not just to stay trim and keep fit like a good girl.

No one sent this shit in, but it's still an Ask Blognigger cause ask Blognigger she did:

I was coming back from C-town with this psychotic fucking load of groceries that my wife made me buy. What about Fresh Direct? What about Fairway? Nope, we were "right there" and so my wife made us buy all this crap from C-town, and then I'm pushing all this shit up the hill like sisyphus. We have about 8 bags of shit tied to the stroller like a homeless person with a stroller. The stroller is a double-stroller (don't wet your pants, Child-Free individuals, it's a "Phil and Ted" which means it stacks vertically like a London doubledecker, not side-to-side like a sidewalk-hogging cunt) so it's heavy to begin with, but pushing that shit up a hill loaded with C-town bricks we don't need, it's like a joke.

Finally we get to 7th avenue, and I'm winded, but my wife is on her phone metaphoring up the next check I'll have to cash, so we don't even break for a second. We're trying to cross the street to the far side of 7th ave, and the light starts flashing red, so on the contrary we hurry up.

Now, on the other side of the street, just by the gutter in the crosswalk, are roughly four billion pigeons. I look up to see which lonely, ready-for-death crone is responsible, but instead of seeing the cast of Cocoon, there's a fairly standard looking park slope white woman who looks like she's about 36. She's tossing little crumbs of shit at them, and they are swarming around her like thousands of winged fathers she never had.

There was nothing I could do - I'm generally the kind of person who doesn't like to remove happiness from people, period. But in this instance, I was pushing a fucking sherman tank up the road with cars about to hit me in the ass - and she's in the motherfucking crosswalk! So I just kept going and going and going slow motion until BAM I fuckin plow into those pidgeons like the ULTIMATE jumping into a pile of leaves experience I never got to have since I grew up in Manhattan with the Puerto Ricans.

Those things scattered like the back kitchen of Uncle Moe's when the INS shows up. It was like the full strike I've never bowled. The lady was left naked and lonely, with all her sellout ratfriends gone to the next crazylady.

She looked up at me and said - NOT like a crazy lady - like a regular park slope co-op member, "Oh, thanks a LOT." and glared at me like I just took a dump in her car. The physical stimulus was even enough to make my wife look up from her phone. I looked at the woman in disbelief and she said the title of this post. "Ask Blognigger: What the fuck did you just do to my pigeons?"

"Your Pigeons?!? Are you fucking crazy - this is a SIDEWALK?" Two for one special on the word Fuck! She said it in front of my kids, so I figured I could say it too.

"Yeah, well, thanks a LOT" she said, and started to walk away down 7th avenue. "Fucking BREEDERS!" she said. Fucking Breeders! Like a regular gawker reading gen-x Nadercunt. Jesus fucking christ this internet is empowering the stupidest fucking people on the planet.

"It's a FUCKING SIDEWALK you psycho" I had to scream at her while she was walking away. Shut up, it's not logical, how the hell should I know. No, I don't think I'm going to teach her anything, or make her realize, "oh it's a sidewalk! I'm a dumb psychodyke! Thank you blognigger!" but I had to let that chemical out - a blog just doesn't cut it for the realtime ragevalve violation.

So in summary, that's my answer. Ah jesus, now my OCD will demand I stick to the format afterall:

Astute reader Pigeon Lady asks:

Dear Blognigger,

What the fuck did you just do to my pigeons?

Hi Pigeon Lady, I'm glad you asked:
It's a sidewalk, you crazy fucking bitch.

Her pigeons. Gimme a fucking break.