I’m A Beautiful Goose And You’re A Fool If You Don’t Take My Picture
Go on darling, click the shutter. Click it. NOW.
You’re a photographer, aren’t you? Yes, I knew it. A glamorous goose like myself can’t spend a quiet, relaxing day at the park without the cameras just flocking to me. That’s a little avian pun for you there. What, did you think that just because I’m beautiful it means I can’t be witty, too? I’ve got it all, my dear. When you’re as cute and charming as I am, you get used to attracting lots of attention, I assure you. So don’t be shy, you may take my photo now.
Did you hear me? I said you may take my photo, now. I’m sure everyone you know is positively dying to get a glimpse of these feathers. They’re a whole rainbow of radiant colors: brown, black, white, gray, goose-gray — yes, that last one is a real color and it just so happens to look dazzling on me. Go on darling, click the shutter. Click it. NOW.
What’s the matter with you? Surely you recognize me from the 1996 critically acclaimed drama Fly Away Home? And you are familiar with the 1978 musical Geese? At least, that was the title before Hollywood butchered it with that hack job of a rewrite. “Grease is the word?” Please! It was “Geese is the bird” from the very start. How do I know that? You’re looking at the goose who inspired it all. Or you damn well should be looking. But go ahead, keep defying my gaze. You won’t ignore me for long, not if you know what’s good for you.
I have the most graceful poses — poses I can hold, I’ll remind you, even while I’m using your favorite picnic spot as my personal restroom. I know you’ve felt that dainty squish underfoot, and I don’t regret it. Not now, not ever.
Oh, don’t think I haven’t seen you out here before with your camera, your phone, and, worst of all, your selfie stick, as though your plain, ordinary face can possibly be more sought after than mine. Ha! How embarrassing for you. Then again, it’s not like any of you so-called “photographers” would know a good subject if it bit you right in the ass, and trust me, I’ve tried.
Wait, what are you doing over there by those rocks? You’re not…? No, you can’t be…Oh my god, no! STOP PHOTOGRAPHING THE TURTLES!!!
You chose those wrinkled monstrosities over ME!!? They have no elegance, no poise! They do nothing, unless slowly moving their horrid penis heads from side to side counts as a hobby. I swear, if it was becoming for a goose to spit — and anatomically possible — I would spit right in your face for this disgusting betrayal, and you can bet the cameras would come out then.
The headlines, oh the headlines, I can see them now. “Extremely Photogenic Goose Gives Clueless Idiot A Scare.” Yes, that sounds right. Or perhaps, “After Defending Itself Against Talentless ‘Photographer,’ Photos Of Gorgeous Goose Go Viral And Goose Is Given A Three-Part Movie Deal.” No, I don’t think that headline is too long, it’s a very important story.
Everyone knows that I’m the prettiest thing in this godforsaken turtle dump. And do you know why that is? It’s no accident, if that’s what you’re thinking.
Didn’t you hear what happened when I caught that woman taking pictures of those flowers the other day? I went over there, looked her straight in the eye, and I ate those flowers. Every. Last. One. They didn’t even taste good, but it had to be done. The life of a star is never easy.
You want to know what’s next on the menu? Well, let’s just say those prehistoric penises don’t deserve to live as long as they do.
I’m ready for my closeup now.
Ysabel Yates is a writer and editor who spends way too much time at the park. She tweets @why_yates.
