Tiny island - maybe 2k by 1k. Not many people, thousands of cockerels. The 'dawn' chorus is deafening and starts at about 3am. It goes on all day [breaking only for the extreme midday heat] until about midnight.
I lie in bed dreaming of having some heavy artillery. Perhaps an automatic rifle or a machine gun. I could finish off a few hundred of them from my bedroom window - cock a doodle doooooooarrrraaaawk! Hahahahahahaahahhahahaaha... feathers everywhere! [sigh] It would be bliss! [grin]
The rest I would pick off with a sniper rifle from the top of a very tall palm tree which [in my daydreams] I can climb easily. Cock-a-doodle-phfffit. Smack, all over and I sleep!
But these are fighting cockerels, proud bird-warriors who glare at me with imperious and knowing eyes as I pass by. They're probably packing a pair of pistols under those feathers. I wouldn't win.
I give in, get up and go for breakfast.
The Haters Gonna Hate Fallacy
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