I Killed Radio Raheem

Before I get to the pleasant portions of this past weekend's trip to Wisconsin, I must rehash some grisly business first. Before Lindsay and I headed to her friend's Wisconsin lake house, we had to drop the dog off at her family's house, because canines have been outlawed in Wisconsin since an Animal Farm-like rebellion pitted man against dog in 1938.

In fact, this is the only dog allowed in the state, and he is an interminable prick. Someone please shoot this dog in the face before he shits on your blankets and disappears, forcing you to explain why 17 pounds of brown corn are resting on the guest room bed.
All praise be to brendan donnelly for the pic.



When we let the dog out into the backyard, Lindsay spotted an injured robin struggling in the grass.
(Photo of robin not actually in grass, but still struggling, no? Little fucker can't even do a pullup)


Possessing a higher tolerance for avian suffering than most, I felt it my duty to take a closer look at the robin, who I shall hereby call Radio Raheem.

Radio Raheem wasn't looking so hot. He was stretching his legs spastically without coordination, he was plummeting forward as if his head was heavier than the rest of his body, and was spreading his wings randomly. My diagnosis: Radio Raheem is fucked.

Lindsay handed me a towel to pick him up with, because we all know that towels are barriers to contamination. So I held Raheem up and gently thrust him skyward about 4 feet off the ground. Radio Raheem fell like a rock. He fell like he wasn't aware that at one time, he could fly. Something had gone terribly wrong inside his feathered little head, and there was nothing that could be done to cure him.


Lindsay suggested that we take him to the vet, but after some deliberation, we both agreed that the vet would probably just put the bird down. It would waste time and prolong the agony of poor Radio Raheem. I had to take care of it myself.

Lindsay went back in the house, unwilling to witness the bloodshed I had to inflict upon the brainsick bird. I figured a big, heavy rock dropped upon his head would be the swiftest method of euthanasia, and also because I didn't want to stomp Radio Raheem, leaving bird viscera coating my kicks.

As the rock hovered above his head, I told Radio Raheem that I was sorry it had come to this. I hesitated in dropping the killing rock, and tried to conjure up any past instances in which I partook in wildlife murder. I drew a blank. The only things I've ever killed were insects and my chances of getting laid.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and dropped the rock. I heard a minor thud and looked down to see if Radio Raheem had been assassinated. The killing rock had struck its target and the bird was dead. I killed Radio Raheem.

It's okay, though. Radio Raheem is in heaven now, kickin' it with triple faced Jesus.


I took hold of Radio Raheem using a plastic bag and placed him at the base of a tree in a wooded area behind the house. Later that night, I recounted my ordeal at the lake house. Lindsay's friend pointed out that due to its obvious neurological impairment, perhaps Radio Raheem had West Nile. This freaked everyone out a little, but it's been 5 days and I'm fine.

And that's how my weekend began. Luckily, the rest of the weekend was slaughter-free. Not even a wolf decapitation.