PIGEONS ON A CELL PHONE
by Chris Joseph First, there were terrorists flying jets into buildings. Then, we had to endure snakes on a plane. Now, we have to deal with something that could make the airways even more lethal than a meal of airline fish sticks: pigeons on cell phones. Researchers at the University of California, Irvine, who must have raided the flagship Berkeley campus and tapped into the apparently limitless supply of LSD left over from the 60's, recently conducted a revolutionary (read: crackpot) experiment. They fitted homing pigeons with backpacks containing pollution censors, GPS monitors, and cell phones, then set them loose over Silicon Valley. Their mission? To explore strange new worlds (like Haight Ashbury). To seek out new life, and new civilizations. To boldly go where no bird has... Okay, I’m exaggerating. They were really just transmitting air quality data to a blog, ostensibly to confirm that smog does exist and isn’t merely a figment of Al Gore’s imagination. But a little birdie told me that not all of his brethren of a feather flocked together. A few rogue pigeons with an attitude evidently decided to deviate from the flight plan to "transmit" a more personalized set of data. What follows is a series of blog entries sent by one disgruntled pigeon, known as "Maverick" to protect his true identity... 12:52 p.m. Maverick here. What kind of a man-brained idea is this? What’s the point of flying over Silicon Valley? All I see is a bunch of dot-commers from the 90's begging for quarters. Where are those PETA flakes when you really need them? Probably over at San Francisco Bay clubbing baby seals or something. I think it’s time to create my own flight plan... 1:18 p.m. Approaching San Francisco. Right below me is AT&T Park, where the Giants play. What’s that bulbous, shiny object down there in left field? Could it be...Barry Bonds’ Giant head? It is! Time to swoop down and drop one of my "missiles," if you know what I mean...Let’s see you try to knock this out of the park, Mr. Balco! 1:32 p.m. There’s Alcatraz Island, former home of the infamous Birdman. Shame on you, Burt Lancaster, for keeping us birds captive all those years...Here’s a little something to remember me by. At least it’s better than a shiv in the groin. 2:10 p.m. Flying over Sacramento...There’s the governor’s mansion. I wonder what Governor Arnold is up to? Probably trying to figure out how to get reelected. Who’d vote for a bad movie actor for anything? Oh, yeah...Reagan...Here you go, big guy–terminate this! Hasta la vista, baby! 2:44 p.m. Heading back over San Francisco...There’s Haight Ashbury, where all those hippies used to hang out. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of this stupid project’s researchers weren’t down there now...Put this in your hash pipe and smoke it! 3:05 p.m. Do I know the way to San Jose? Unfortunately, yes. Whatever happened to Dionne Warwick, anyway? Is she still on the Psychic Friends Network? Hey, Dionne–can you predict what I’m about to do now?...Bombs away, San Jose! 3:22 p.m. Mission accomplished!. Time to head back to base. I don’t know if I made any scientific breakthroughs, but I sure did get a lot of crap out of my system, so to speak...Heading over San Francisco Bay...Getting really smoggy now. Can’t see...can’t breathe...feel weak...Oh no! I think I just hit the Golden Gate Bridge. I’m going down! Mayday! Mayday! You kids at home...never fly in smog while talking on your cell phone.. Maverick over... and out.
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