I can assume that all of you have read To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, and I could bet that most of you, like me, were dissatisfied with it. I'm not saying that I hate the story, but I am saying I was annoyed by how the title was just symbolism. That's right I would have wished that the story was about killing a mockingbird. So, unlike Harper Lee, I shall tell you how I killed a mockingbird in one day and three steps. I have to say I have no malice towards mockingbirds; I'm only doing this because Harper Lee didn't.
I woke up this morning at my earliest, 10:59 am. I remember Sun Tzu had once said, “To know thy enemy one must know oneself,” so I must learn about myself. To do this I stand in front of the mirror of my vanity dresser to study myself, and I must say, I am a tall drink of water. “Oh my,” the man in my mirror said. Why does he sound like George Takei do I have an unconscious attraction to George? Well better him than Shatner. “Do you come here often?”
“Only a couple times a day.”
“How could I miss a sexy being of perfection like you?”
“You think I’m sexy?” I said as I ran my fingers through my thick, perfect brunette hair. I couldn’t stop staring at my looking glass eyes that were a deep hazel. They were the kind that could hypnotize you.
“Me undressing you with my eyes.”
“How about me having my way with you... with my eyes?”
“So much,” I said biting my bottom lip. I couldn’t tell if it was me or if the room just got hotter by like ten degrees. I had to fan myself.
“How about me raping you... with my eyes?”
“Really?” the reflection said in disappointment.
“Yeah, because you can’t rape the willing,” I said with a cocky smile.
“Oh my, you’re going to be the death of me.” I think I got a good grasp on the wonderful being whom I call me. So I left my room at l2: 30 pm with step one accomplished and ready to begin step two.
Hannibal had said, “Those who fail to prepare, prepare to fail.” Since I don’t want to fail, I shall prepare.
Outside my house and into the Oregon city of Eugene, I head towards downtown to gather the materials I will need to achieve the death of a mockingbird. I was walking down the avenue and in front of me was a girl who, to me, looked like an ironic hipster going into a Starbucks. I followed her in not because I’m a stalker but because I needed to go to Starbucks. Why must I go to Starbucks? You ask yourself. Well, I need some caffeinated beverage that will keep me alert and sharp for mockingbirds are such ferocious beasts. The ironic hipster was right before me in the line.
I tapped her on her shoulder and said “People who come here are just fascists. I only come here ironically.”
“You and I are two peas in a pod in an illiterate field of racist farmers,” she said as if she had spoken words of profound value.
“Surely this crestfallen society is one of vile cogs. It sickens me to see how they all think of themselves as special when they are only identical pieces that if broken can easily be replaced by another cog so that the eternal machine we called society can continue to robs us of our freewill so we can be good little cogs and continue to live on. I only affiliate with such disgusting beings because I am ironically ironic,” I said, becoming more disgusted with myself with every word I spoke.
“Jezzy Chrizzy, I have never heard such deep words. They struck my very core like a gong in a church bell.” I’m ashamed listening to her. Good thing she was highly attractive with her auburn hair and tawny eyes. If not I would have stopped talking to her the moment she opened her mouth. But since she is hot, I had to ask her.
“Hey, do you want to ironically have sex in the bathroom?”
“Sure.” I knew she would agree because as long as you add the word ironic to whatever you say, ironic hipsters will agree. I think they don’t actually understand the word ironic, wouldn’t that be ironic?
Anyways we headed to the bathroom for a Starbucks quickie.
After getting what I wanted from the ironic hipster I left the establishment to begin step three.
It was 7 pm when I started this step. Since I don’t actually have a gun I must use a water pistol that I had bought at a 99-cent store four years ago. I filled it up and waited because as Dutch said, “If it bleeds, we can kill it.” I waited two hours in my backyard, hoping to see a mockingbird. It probably would have helped if I actually knew what a mockingbird looked like.
“Scout what are you doing?” my big brother Jeremy asked as he stood in the doorway.
“Trying to kill a mockingbird.”
“This is Oregon, there are no mockingbirds here.” Dammit. I give up, and you know what? Fuck you Harper Lee. Fuck you.
