An Open Letter to the Birds that Have Infested my Apartment:

Dear birds:

I feel, first, that I must clear a few things up. I believe it necessary to apologize on behalf of my species. I realize that you birds are a proud race, and that my brethren have built homes and parking lots and shopping malls and office buildings and day spas (I know, I never got the point, either) all over your habitat. We (not me, the editorial) have chopped down the trees in which you live, and forced you to find new places in which to establish your dominion.

But I should say, I have never built a house or domicile of any sort. I have never personally chopped down a tree, or bulldozed any section of forestrial area. I have never once shot at you with pellet and/or paintball guns like some of my contemporaries. I have never flushed out a gutter nor attempted to place poison in possible nesting places so as to prevent you from settling in them. I have never even attempted to climb up into crevices on my landing where you seem to congregate. I feel that I give you guys a lot of latitude, given the circumstances. But there are some things, birds, some things that I feel cross the line and that no level of human guilt for your current circumstances can abate. These things are what we humans categorically refer to as not cool.

The following is a list of things you have done that are not cool:

• Setting up a base in my dryer vent. I realize that it is warm and nest-size and that during the warmer weather, we often leave our window open to allow the vent room so we don't have to keep taking it apart and putting it back together. To do so would call for a significant amount more effort than we would like, and we would like to preserve this modest convenience. Also, we feel that closing the window would amount to an affront toward your species. However, imagine our displeasure when we can't figure out why the lint is backing up in our dryer and nearly burning our whole building to the ground only to find a mass of twigs and eggs inside of our vent. I feel this is self-explanatory. If our house burns down, we all lose. No one wants this.

• Burrowing into the wall directly next to our shower. It's not even so much that I know you're there. But holy fucking Christ do you guys make a lot of noise. I don't know what sort of avian sexual debauchery is going on in there, but it sounds like the soundtrack to a Takashi Miike film. I would like to shower without feeling like I need to shower. If you know what I mean.

• Hiding out in the alcove above our landing and shitting all over our empties. I estimate that we have at least thirty bucks worth of empties hanging out on that landing. Yes, this is Springfield, but let's be serious. No depository in the universe is going to accept these in their current state. Initially, we were going to try to tell them it was the result of an unfortunate mayonnaise or cream cheese incident, but your persistent defecation has made the substance's origin all too recognizable. The homeless guy who walks around collecting cans for a fucking living knocked on our door the other day asking if he could take some of them, and even he didn't want them. This man, whose home is likely made out of cardboard, only took the few boxes out of range of your target zone, just to give you an idea of how gross this is.

• Flying into our house and fucking shit up. Do I really need to explain this? When I'm awoken by what sounds like a break-in at 5 AM and find my roommates frantically running around the place with pots and pans trying to catch a small, winged intruder, I feel as if I'm being subject to a bad omen. I like you guys. I like you outside. This is my bird-free zone. I like it that way. Feel free to eat from the bird-feeder we keep out front that you completely fucking ignore.

This is a mere sampling of my frustrations with you. I would like this to be cordial. We need to draw up some ground rules. Let's talk. Thanks.