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So, the kids have been out of school this week for Spring Break.  That leaves Michelle and the kids and a highly impressionable young talking bird in the house.  All at once.  I see this as a coming disaster.

I’m waiting to come home and be greeted by Zoey with such phrases as, “Mom! What?!”  or “Where’s the phone?!”  or “Brennnonnnn!”  You know, the usual stuff that gets thrown around when there’s four bored kids making trouble.

I’m pretty sure parrots are a lot like children.  You can sit there for days and try and get them to say something like, “Hello!” and “Night-night!” and stuff, and they’ll never pick it up.  But call someone a bastard and you’ll never hear the end of it.  Ten years after the event they’ll still be saying it when you invite the local preacher over for dinner.  And parrots can live for about thirty years, if properly cared for.  Which can be very difficult when they’re trying to eat your glasses.

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