Gary hammered nails into a pizza box, muttering, “This is art, not a trash can!” His backyard resembled a junkyard: old shoes, salad bowls, and a defunct toaster dangled like modern sculpture. Mrs. Pudelwick, her eyebrows sharp as ice picks, stomped over. “What in heaven’s name is that?” she hissed, eyeing a birdhouse shaped like a neon orange spaceship.
“It’s a *statement*!” Gary yelled, swinging a paintbrush like a conductor’s baton. “Birds need style!” He splattered glitter on the toaster roof, which promptly short-circuited. Sparks flew. Mrs. Pudelwick yelped, swatting at smoke with a gardening glove.
The next morning, a flock of sparrows pecked at the contraption. Gary gasped. “They’re *intrigued*!” But the birds fled when the pizza box roof creaked open, revealing a nest of used tissues and a single rubber chicken. Mrs. Pudelwick snorted. “You’ve turned my yard into a circus.”
Weeks later, a local art blog featured Gary’s “Avian Abstraction.” He received a check, a thank-you note, and a cease-and-desist from the bird union. Gary smiled, spray-painting the rubber chicken gold. “Next project: a duck pond made of old microwaves.”
