I’m a kiwi bird, mister.
I’m not from California… I’m from New Zealand.
I ended up on a ship. It’s a long story, but I won’t take up too much of your time. I thought it would be funny, you know, to climb into a crate of kiwi fruit.
You know… ‘look at me, I’m a kiwi bird in a box of kiwi fruit,’ that old gag, but I didn’t realize my family and I were at the port, and that a crane would take that crate of fruit, with my girlfriend and I unintentionally stowed inside it, and put us on a ship that was going to California — a trip that took almost three weeks; where, in addition to separating us from our beloved families, we barely found enough invertebrates to live on and scarcely slept from the rocking of the ocean, it’s a miracle we even survived!
To sum, my friend, we’re stranded here, as, even though we’re birds, we’re flightless birds, and can not, thus, fly back to our homeland — as so many have suggested before.
It is an unfortunate situation, you can image. And that’s why we don’t have any money for gas… also, my girlfriend is with egg, as we say, so I have to take her to the vet — we kiwi birds lay very large eggs for our body size… poor lass.
Then we both have to incubate it…
What a drag!
I hate to ask this — it really is not my avian way — but do you have a couple of bucks to spare? It would really help us get on down the road, mister.
You do? Oh, thank you, thank you, god bless you; I mean, chirp.