Am I a bad person? Probably.

So, there's a facebook page about my old hometown, and, for some insane reason, I read it.

   Today someone ran over a gaggle of Canadian geese, and an outry ensued.

 My own feeling is that I'm happy the driver is safe. Canadian geese are pretty frigging big, and having a turkey-sized bird get wedged under my front bumper in the course of driving would certainly be reason enough to jerk the goddamn wheel out of sheer surprise.

 So, having said that, I'm a bad person now. All the (female) Facebook respondents, who panicked with the 'giuz, pleez call someones pleez' were thick as flies on a shitpile, and I had to have some fun.

 Look, there were a couple of dead canadian geese in the road in a town south of Boston. You've got to understand, on the MA coast, there's a 1:1 ratio of water rats to Canadian geese. Pigeons are fuckin' exotic compared to the 15lb flying rats that infest the public laws of MA.

 At any rate, I had some fun trolling the 400lb welfare moms who infest the page in question. As a former biologist, I can attest with some accuracy that no Canadian goose gets rehabbed in south suburban MA unless, by 'rehabbed' you mean  "eaten by staff." Imagine you're a poor sap who got suckered into being a wildlife biologist in the metro Boston area. You can either save 1 otter, 6-8 raptors (hawks and other birds of prey), some ducks, a racoon and a deer or two, or you can try and fail to save some Goddamned seagulls and Canadian geese.

 Personally, I don't like goose meat. The breast is the only section that ain't all bones, and it's gamy as shit.