I have gone on record as a person who, with a few exceptions (teeny tiny sparrows that stay at least five feet away from me), hates birds. I mean, I recognize they’re importance to the overall eco system, so it’s not like I want them all to die, though I am certainly happy to eat them. I just happen to personally feel that birds are flying dinosaurs who’ve been around since forever, and their tiny, beady, evil eyes are time capsules reflecting millions of years of terrifying Earthly destruction. And owls? Owls are the old creepy pervert of birds/flying dinosaurs. JUST LISTEN TO THEM LAUGH. I will be NOPING for days. [Refinery 29]
My mom collected owl art before she had kids, so our basement was chock full of owl paintings, lithographs and tapestries (okay, my mom came of age in the ’70s.) These owls are a tasteful update on the owl obsession, perfect as a shelf objet d’art or desk paperweight. In a word, they’re a hoot.
The new blog Hungover Owls is exactly the kind of pure silliness I live for. It features pictures of owls looking kind of busted, as if they’d had a wild night of boozing, and, as a bonus, we see their ridiculous morning-after thought bubble. Now that I think about it, owls always look kind of hung over. Like this fellow who is thinking, “My brain is screaming. I don’t have time for this s#@t.” We suggest some aspirin and a nap in that tree hole, buddy. Not so wise anymore, eh? [Hungover Owls] Keep reading »