Yesterday's Story Concluded

Okay, children. Mammy and Da are off to their offices and the computer is all yours. Before you start your day of running up their credit card bills on iTunes, haul your arses into Ol' Uncle Bloggy's Story Wigwam so we can finish yesterday's cliff-hanging adventure.

When we left off, the three Self Righteous Birds were trying to redeem the nasty disposition of Ugnophia Mae, the ill tempered cow. Somebody get Uncle Bloggy a beer out of the fridge, and we'll pick up the story there.

Okay, so. One of the little starlings had flown right up on top of the knotty head of the naughty cow and he, the bird, began to speak. "Cow" says he, "don't you see that by being nasty and unpleasant, you've driven away everybody who ever tried to be your friend, leaving you here, wallowing in this muddy field, all alone, with no one to visit with, no one to care for, no one to love or to be loved by? Don't you see how you're missing on all the happiness and fun and music around you? Don't you see how if you'd just change your ways, every day could be like Irish Fest? Full of dancing and friendship and joy?"

The cow slowly chewed her cud while she thought this over. The three birds looked on and waited anxiously.

The cow finally spoke.

"Nah" she said.

So the little bird pooped on the cow's head and flew off with his companions to another field, where they found a much nicer cow who loved Irish music and could hop up on her hind legs and dance a jig. And they all lived happily ever after, except the poop-head cow who eventually died alone and cranky. Serves her right if you ask me.

Oh, and that happy dancing cow and the three happy, if a little preachy, birds? They need names. And you can win a cool prize if you come up with the best ones. You can read all about the Name The Cow And Birds contest and all out other great stuff for kids by clicking on this green word right here.

The end. Now, clear out of the Story Shack. Uncle Bloggy needs a nap. And close the door on your way out! I'm not air conditioning the %$@#!!* front yard. Punk kids.