So I’m barreling down Industrial Way at 327 50 MPH last night when I see two pigeons camped out in the middle of my lane.

“Oh, no problem,” I thought to myself. “They have plenty of time to get up and fly away.”

I get closer. No movement.

I get closer still. Bird #1 makes like he’s going to start thinking about moving. Bird #2 doesn’t budge.

Closer and closer. Bird #1 gets the hell out of Dodge before he has a Toyota emblem tattooed on his forehead. Bird #2 continues to scratch his ass crack.

I’m now literally within 10-20 feet of Bird #2, who is still on the road. Finally, at this point, he decides it might be a good idea to move (though I question whether it was because he saw me. My theory is that he saw a discarded cigarette butt on the other side of the road and just went for it.)

I think you can see where this is going.

I obliterated that stupid bird like nobody’s business. When I looked in my rear view mirror, all I saw was a dead pigeon carcass bouncing along the side of the road. Feathers were falling back down to the ground. It was grisly.

My immediate concern did not lie with that bird, though. If it’s too blind, deaf, and stupid to get the hell out of the way, well, then, that’s just too bad. No, I was concerned about the front of my Tacoma.

I pulled into the parking lot of my destination, the Galleria. I got out of my truck and slowly inched my way around to the front, dreading what I was about to see. Amazingly, there wasn’t one scratch or dent. The only sign of a collision was two lonely feathers dangling from the grille. That’s it.

So, Toyota, kudos to you for your superior engineering skills. That was one hell of an impact that my truck sustained, and it is no worse for the wear.

And all you pigeons out there? Let that be a lesson to you. I’m driving a lean, green, pigeon-eliminating machine, so you best get out my way, beeyotch. I’m gunning for you.