Gary, a man whose idea of ‘crafting’ involved duct-taping a toaster to a birch tree, stood back to admire his latest masterpiece. The birdhouse, painted in neon pink and adorned with glitter made from crushed CDs, hummed with the low buzz of a malfunctioning toaster oven. ‘It’s a statement piece,’ he told his dog, Biscuit, who stared at the contraption like it had personally insulted his ancestors.
The plan was simple: attract finches. The execution? A chaotic symphony of sizzling wires, a misplaced wrench, and a suspiciously large quantity of hot glue. Gary had rigged the toaster to emit a ‘warm, inviting tone’ (i.e., a high-pitched squeal that scared off every bird within a mile). When a squirrel attempted to nest in the toaster vent, Gary panicked, shouting, ‘NO! That’s my avant-garde centerpiece!’
By sunset, the birdhouse had collapsed into a pile of charred debris, smelling faintly of burnt toast and regret. Biscuit, ever the critic, urinated on the remains. Gary, undeterred, pulled out a new project: a ‘squirrel-proof’ bird feeder made from a lawnmower and a PowerPoint slide deck. ‘Art is persistence,’ he muttered, as the lawnmower sputtered to life and chased him through the yard.
The next morning, a lone sparrow perched on the smoldering heap. Gary whispered, ‘You’re safe here,’ before accidentally setting his hair on fire with a lighter shaped like a peacock.
