Hating seagulls is like being racist or homophobic

I stole this from Iced Tea and Sarcasm. I don't even know where it's from originally. Oh well.

Ok, so I seem to have been getting a lot of traffic from people interested in the whole hating seagulls being like racism or homophobia, so I feel I should offer an opinion. Since this is a blog, I've decided that rather than reading the article and writing a balanced, considered response, I've decided to make uniformed commentary. On one level, hating seagulls simply for being seagulls is, of course, speciesism, (or something). And I suppose it is comparable - hating all seagulls because one defecated on your grandmother is like hating all black people because one... defecated on your grandmother. Or whatever. But there are differences - in my unnecessarily scatological analogy, an entire race was judged on the actions of one person. However, seagulls do shit one things, indiscriminately. So it's not a prejudice; it's based on fact gained from experience, not assumptions made without study. However, the main issue is, I suppose, the hate of seagulls for being something they couldn't help but be. At the end of the day, we have to remember that no-gull chooses to be a seagull.  Maybe we should say no to hate, and the next time we're pooped on from up high, remember that it wasn't our flying friends' fault.

Now, where to I sign up to get those Mallards? Bloody queers.

I'm being stalked every dusk...

"Who are you?"
It was getting late - not so late as to become dark, but perhaps dusk. Becoming dusk?... No, it was dusky? Well, whatever.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was beginning to go away. It was, in fact, dusk. But this isn't the interesting part of this story. In fact, the interesting part stood about 4 foot behind me. It had stayed constantly about 4 foot behind me for the best part of 10 minutes, despite my ducking and diving. It was a he, and he was a middle-aged man, going grey and balding on the top of the hair department, dressed in a tweed suit, like Sean Connery in The Untouchables. So, this brings us back to the beginning of this exciting tale (mundane fictional blog).
 "I'm your new sidekick." He replied. Despite the fact he was clearly stalking me, and fabricating a relationship between us, he didn't sound altogether creepy when he told me who he though he was. Actually, he had a pleasing, reassuring tone. He seemed trustworthy, and - as the word implies - I was inclined towards trusting him. However, it occurred to me suddenly that he wasn't my sidekick - Max was in jail for illegally exposure towards a minor (from a mine, don't worry. Although he was a dwarf - a fantasy one, mind you), and I hadn't seen that superhero kid who used to follow me since the Keene act. So, with some worries, I turned towards the gent, and spoke:
 "Really? I'm afraid I don't know you, good sir."
 "Yes," He continued, "I've been sent to be your new sidekick. I'm a real person, with real personal traits and problems, to make your blog more mature and realistic."
 "Uh huh..." I uh huhed, declining to ask whom had sent him, "And these problems are...?"
 "Well, I dislike blacks and gays." He stated matter-of-factly. And suddenly, things got awkward. You know, more awkward than a middle-aged man following you.
 "But," He went on, "I'm forced to address these aspects of my personality when my son comes out of the closet and enters a relationship with a black man."
"Right," I backed off, "Well, good luck with that... Tackling your prejudices I mean, not the bigotry."
I continued to back off, until I hit the road. Turning, I ran into the traffic, dodging in and out of cars, until I was home. I shut the curtains and curled into a ball under my bed. Frankly, I can't be doing with any more sidekicks. I'll just end up pregnant.