I do not own the Far Side or Gary Larson. I did not even create this scenario. It is an adaptation on his comic genius, and the scene with a man loading a gun beneath a swinging caged bird.

Boid In A Cage

"Hey Buddy buddy buddy," sang the parakeet.

"Oh, shaddap, ya stupid boid," cried the fat little man in the dirty white tank-top below. He sat in a chair, hunched over something he was working on in his hands. Every now and then the man would stop to yell and glare up at the cacophonic bird in the cage.

There were no decorations on the walls and the only pieces of furniture to be seen were the reclining arm chair the man sat in, its stuffing billowing out one side, and a TV-dinner stand. Dirty dishes and ketchup-stained paper napkins littered the floor, and an old and very large television set babbled away in Italian in the corner. Outside the windows, neons flashed in the night and a hodge podge of sounds--traffic, laughter and gunshots, sirens, violent yells and muted dance tunes--floated up on the breeze and teased at soiled curtains.

"Rawk," said the bird, "Hey Buddy buddy buddy buddy..."

"Shaddap, Boid!" cried the man again.

The parakeet tilted its head and listened as if hearing something for the first time. It waited for a time and then repeated its offer. "Heeey Buddy buddy..."

"I said, Shaddap, Boid!"

Again there was silence and then the bird very carefully replied, "Shaddap, Boid!"

The man's head jerked up at this. His lip trembled and he stared at the bird in the cage.

"Shaddap, Boid!" said the bird, "Shaddap, Boid!"

The man turned and gazed out the window. Slowly his eyes turned back to the gun he had been cleaning in his lap. He had gotten the thing ready to use on the parakeet, but now some other idea seemed to register in his dark little mind.

"Them are my words and my voice," he whispered. "The boid is only copying what it's been told by people, that's all."

Dirty fingers combed through greasy black hair. The man scratched his chest where the sweat soaked tank-top he was wearing looked nearly threadbare, and he considered: If he could teach the bird some good things to say, maybe he could sell it and get some money to buy cigarettes. He decided to try.

The gun went back under the chair and the man carefully took the cage down from its hook.

Two weeks later the man again sat in the chair. This time he was loading the gun. Above him the bird swang in its cage.

"Say 'ello,' ya stupid boid!" chirped the parakeet. "I need a cigarette," said the bird. "Shaddap, Boid!" "Shaddap, ya stupid Boid!" "I need a cigarette!"

The man's eyes were glazed and dark. He cocked the weapon.

"Hey Buddy buddy buddy," said the bird one last time.