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. . . F E A T H E R S . . .

backstage with Laughing Gulls Rags and Gabs, Leucophaeus atricilla

“That last swoop was a doozie.  Whew! Now Rags, just let me do the talking.  A chuckle, chortle, guffaw, or a snicker--  I can do 'em all. I've the merry gift of gab.  It is a gift you know.  Now you should just rely on your instincts, and nod agreeably.  That last flock was annoying, even obnoxious.  Yeah, being the brunt of all their jokes got tiresome, but guess it was a sign of affection. They couldn’t help it, they’re laughing gulls, and yes I’m lovable.  But now, yeah, I'm liking this new flock better already.  Listen to that mirth.  I'll open with our best material, maybe a ‘knock, knock.’  No, maybe not. A chicken joke might go over better with this crowd. Less interactive.  Yeah that will be it, a cross-the-road joke.  A real knee-slapper. Our time to shine, Rags, it’s a new day.

Remember mum’s the word for you, Rags, I'll chat things up, you nod. Hey, they don’t call me Gabs for nothin’-- I have the gift.  If things turn south, we'll vamoose, head south.  Ha!  I made a funny.  It's a talent you know.  So if things turn, I'll give you the usual sign, preen my right wing, then my left.  But you keep it deadpan, yeah, your best poker face -- but no card tricks, now.  Do some takes, turn your head, you know, the Carson / Wile E. Coyote thing.  You do that well.  There's power in that.  Just don't get ruffled.  Keep your timing. Oh, and nod. We'll have 'em rolling in the aisles, then take control of the whole shebang.  The flock will be ours.  They'll love us and soon we’ll be laughing all the way to the bank.  Ha, I made another one, just can't help it.  It's a talent you know.

So are you ready, ready to rule the world, ready to nod?  Are you in? You’re a natural leader.  You were born for this.  We were born for this, so are you with me?  Hey, say something Rags, even just a nod!  I know that was a lot to process, but now’s our chance.  It’s our destiny-- if not now, when?  Speak up old chum!  We’re a team.  We’re Laughing Gulls, and it’s time to tickle some feathers . . .yuk, yuk, yuk, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc.,” . . .  Before he could finish, Rags, our unruffled old friend, deadpanned another take, spread his feathers and flapped off, stage left.