The Parable of the Starlings...

For the non country folk among you, starlings are small, black, noisy, dirty and smelly little birds, which make the most godawful racket, and who gather together like pack animals and crap all over everything in sight.

Some in fact call them "flying rats."

And these unwanted invaders arrived as if by magic every September and proceeded to assault our Livingston County, Missouri Courthouse.  They would arrive as a mob of tens of thousands and pretend the Courthouse was their bedroom.  And bathroom.  They would swarm pedestrians and poop all over every car within a two-block radius.  They would stay for a month or so and then disappear, only to arrive once again the following Fall.

Now, this scenario justifiably angered the businesses around the Town Square.  In the middle of this Square was our Courthouse.  A five-story concrete building housing our County's courtrooms and bizz.  A nondescript, gray, plain and ordinary courthouse that somehow acted as a magnet to starlings.  And when customers stopped shopping, the businesses started howling.  This had been going on for years and the businesses, and the citizens, were demanding the city council do something!  Anything!  And now!

Well, fellow Patriots, the folks where I come from are smart.  And ingenious.  And able to figure out the answers to complex questions.  Like how to get rid of a pack of howling, errant, dirty, nasty starlings.  

And they did.  They voted to invite all the folks in the Chillicothe area to bring their .410 and 20 and 28-guage shotguns to the Town Square on a particular Saturday.  And bring plenty of birdshot ammo, 'cause it was time to blow those suckers right out of the sky!  And my buddy Kenney Frost, who owned the local gun store, offered to sell shotshells at a discount to help make the little soiree a success.  

And boy, was it ever!  About 60 of our fellow gunners arrived early that day, took their positions around the Courthouse and, when the Mayor fired his little starting pistol, we unleased a volley of gunfire not seen since the Battle of the Bulge.  For a solid hour we blasted away, felling Starlings by the bushel.  And every few minutes the starter would blow his whistle, the shooting would stop, and the fallen birds were collected in bushel baskets by the local Boy Scout troop.  And then the whistle would blow and WW3 would start up again.  Hundreds of townies watched at a safe distance and applauded with glee!  A real party, this.  

Damn it was loud!  And boy do I love loud!  I love the smell of gunpowder in the morning!

By the editor of the local paper's estimation, more than 2,000 starlings were erased from the Town Square that day.  And the shotgunners were then treated to a BBQ on the Square, pot luck.  As I recall the local beer emporium passed out brewskies, but only after the hardware was safely locked away.  The party went well into the evening, ending only when the cool night air got too cold.  I have a fond memory of that day, most particularly because of one glaring, dayglo, neon fact.  Ready for it?

    The Starlings Never Came Back.

Had those starlings chosen to conduct themselves in a polite, courteous and neighborly manner, like good visitors should, I'm sure we'd have had no problem with their visit.  However, their actions demanded that the punishment fit the crime.  

And it did.

With extreme prejudice.  

We never had to deal with them again.  Maybe the jungle drums beat out the message that my little small town was no longer welcoming to these flying nuisances.  Maybe it was burned into their collective DNA that day that ours was a place which fights back.  That doesn't take getting shat upon lightly...  

And maybe, just maybe, we all should try some of that creative, out-of-the-box thinking to end the crisis of crime enveloping our once-safe and law-abiding Country.  Permitted to envelope.  Apparently with intent.  By unwarranted leniency.  By mollycoddling criminals in an effort to assuage White guilt, and in the misplaced "hope" that they'll "see the light" this time, and head toward the straight and narrow.  Or something.  

"Hope" is not a strategy.

Taxifornia permits petty thieves to steal up to $950 per store, before declaring it a felony.  And that's per day!  Come back tomorrow and do it again.  And then, if by some chance a cop happens to see you and chooses to get involved (they may not, knowing it's performance art), all he can do is write a $50 ticket, with no appearance date, and no recourse for non payment.  Why don't we all just start shoplifting?  

Maybe we all soon will!  And that will be the day America dies...

I'm reminded of the ancient Arab saying:  "You let a camel get his nose under the tent, pretty soon you have a camel in your tent."

The camel's nose is under the tent.

I pray this admonition doesn't fall on deaf ears.  Like those of the mayors of the 50 largest cities in America.  Who have collectively caused this abominable, Country-destroying s**tshow.

Pass it along...