We were getting all gussied up to go visit something owned by the Prince of Monaco. While not exactly trying to look our Sunday Best, we were trying to appear somewhat acceptable.
Checking to make sure everything was in order we headed downstairs and out the front door to get into the car.
Except... there was something interesting that had taken place... very interesting, in fact...
The Bird God had blessed us. Mightily.
The Starlings that Murmur over Nice Port in late Fall, early Winter had done something very special for us. Or to us, depending on ones perspective.
Our car had been carpet bombed nearly to oblivion in Starling Poop.
Every side of the car except the bottom was covered in Bird Doo. And I mean every side. It had been a massive explosion.The cars in front and behind us were covered, too. The ground was neatly covered in a circle of Starling Carpet Bombing Loveliness. It was a Ripe Mess, and our car had been the epicenter of that Mess.
We'd never seen anything like it. One had to admire the accuracy and precision that is normally left to the Dreams of Military Generals. It was insane how completely the area had been saturated.
There was nothing for it but to go visit the Place of the Prince as we were. Covered in Bird Sh*t.
There wasn't time to stop for a wash. That would happen the next morning at a gas station up around the corner from us where they had an automated car wash named Christ.
You can't make this stuff up.
Until then the Monegasque Peoples would need to suffer the site of us for the day.
