Rex Tugwell, the Brown-Headed Cowbird

Sammy reports that while working his shift at Arby's yesterday he found in his register a crude stick drawing of what he assumes is himself with the word "RACIST" underneath it. Clearly, Trisha has not forgotten his lack of concern about Michael Jackson. Generally, Sammy wants every person to like him. It bothers him if people look at him funny. So it was uncharacteristic when Sammy held up the drawing to Trisha and said, "Did you see what a seven-year-old retarded customer made me?" He says it was the easily the cruelest thing he's ever said, though he's more concerned about the insult to a mentally retarded seven-year-old girl than to Trisha. Sammy knows himself though, and he's already tried to make it up to Trisha (in the absence of a mentally retarded seven-year-old girl). On break he listened to his ipod with one earphone hanging out so Trisha could hear he was listening to Stevie Wonder's "Superstition" (he has no Michael Jackson and refuses to buy any now) which Boyce gave to him from his favorite Stevie Wonder album/cover, "Talking Book." (Boyce says: "I don't think anyone ever told Stevie Wonder that they made the cover from a picture of him trying to find something he dropped in the dirt. I bet they took a hundred pictures of him in some funky, artistic poses, and then they thought, 'Let's just use the one where he's trying to find the pen he dropped.'") Trisha didn't seem to notice, so now Sammy is going to have to give her great hours next week to try to smooth things over.

I wish I had a boss like Boyce. My boss who makes the schedule is Rex Tugwell, the head janitor at the Sleep Center. He calls me Virus Buttertree. I told him he should be one to make fun of names. He said, "Oh yeah, is there something wrong with my name?" Apparently he's like the fifth Rexford Tugwell in his family. When I don't have anything to sketch, sometimes I sketch Rex with the head of a brown-headed cowbird, which is the biggest douchebag in the bird class.

Birds of prey are a necessary part of nature, and I don't resent them for killing other birds. There is a certain dignity in being hunted by a Peregrine Falcon. I only wish I could go in such a worthy way, rather than forgetting to look when I cross the street which I have so often predicted. The brown-headed cowbird though is an undignified, shameless monster.

Brown-headed cowbirds do not make nests. The females lay their eggs in another species' nest so that the victim species raises the cowbird young instead of its own, sometimes letting its own baby birds die from neglect. There is also something called "mafia behavior." Occasionally a victim species will recognize the cowbird egg and refuse to care for it. Other brown-headed cowbirds, however, will literally come to intimidate the victim species by ransacking the nest until the victim gives in and cares for the cowbird young (for the unbelievers). The cuckoo bird actually does the same thing, and can actually make its egg look like the victim's eggs. But since the cuckoo is mainly in Europe my disdain is more abstract. Still, I find the choice to domesticate the cuckoo's form through the hour chime of novelty clocks to be a dubious decision, at best.

5 reasons why Rex Tugwell is akin to the brood-parasite brown-headed cowbird:
1. He calls me Virus Butterbee. Other versions are Typhus Wondergeek, Spineless Feathertree, and Idiot.
2. He shoots mourning doves in his spare time. I confirmed this when I asked him.
3. He doesn't give me extra hours except when he goes camping.
4. He says "I understand that" even when you are clearly informing him of something new.
5. He is actually a pretty terrible janitor.

Since we don't work at the same time, I generally don't see Rex too much. I saw him yesterday evening on his way out, and he told me he just got down shooting some owls out back. That's how he says hello to me. I said I highly doubted that due to the laws about discharging guns, and he said, "Yeah, well, you think you're so tough, you think you could wrestle a monkey?"

I was not expecting this. It turns out Rex was in a good mood because what he called "monkey wrestling" was back in town down at the airport. He told me to get on the phone and let my two gay friends know about it. I told him I would do nothing of the sort, but when I did tell Boyce about it later he told me we have to go. So for the first time in my life I called Rex and asked him about the monkey wrestling.

We're going Saturday night.