The Parrot Show

Featuring a Special Guest Appearance!

It was the first of its kind: a fashion boutique for parrots.

Yes, I thought, signing away all I owned to fund this venture. This is what winning looks like.

Situated in the grand Kotva department store, Wings was a hundred square meters of splendour, providing the finest in apparels: miniature waistcoats, dresses, suits, jackets, swimwear and custom tracksuits—everything to ensure your feathered friend would be talk of the treetops.

For its design, I hired famous interior guru, Bogdan Palpovich, who claimed no one dared question the budget when they created heaven. Well, I could hardly argue with that!

The result was exactly how I imagined it—without being able to quite imagine it. Bamboo clothes racks with gold leaf hangers. Marble pillars wrapped in crystal glass vines. Jewel encrusted fitting boxes, complete with robot-tailors. This wasn’t just a shop: this was a lush oasis in a desert of mediocrity.

‘I just had a one-night stand with your mind,’ explained Palpovich, who rarely shared his creative process with anyone.

‘Now here’s the bill.’

And while the birds were busy picking out their new plumage for the season, their humans would be treated to organic wines, ethically sourced coffee, and the finest nuts known to humanity.

…

The first few weeks were rather slow—which was to be expected, really. In the meantime, my PR team was working on the social media campaign—a viral launch across all major platforms. Soon, we’d be setting up franchises all over the world!

There was a high-end dog outlet across from us, selling all sorts of treats and soft toys at absurd prices. How far had evolution fallen to turn a wolf into those poor mutations I saw being dragged into that place? Regardless, I waved to the bow-legged shop assistant while cringing inwardly—aware that any association with them would likely harm our exclusivity. No, we didn’t cater to four legs. In fact, we’d transcended legs altogether.

…

The months floated by, as I took advantage of the calm before the storm to polish off a business book I’d been reading: Green Jungle Strategy. Well, I’d certainly planted a whole new market—though perhaps the fruit was still a little too ripe for harvest.

I called my events director, Joola Torondo, to map out a plan to take over the industry.

‘What we neeeed…’ he purred in his sassy Italian accent.

‘WHAT?!’ I gripped the sides of my chair. Since his latest stint in recovery, Joola had developed a habit of forgetting most of his best ideas. He knocked back his espresso and leapt onto the counter, exposing his pufferfish sandals.

‘The seed of every civilization! What causes atoms to collide!’

‘DON’T DO THIS TO ME, JOOOOLA!’ I moaned, tortured by visions of balding parrots flapping aimlessly, as he gesticulated. ‘JUST TELL ME!’

‘A big… A big…’

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding onto my head lest it explode in awe.

‘A big… BANG!’

‘Okay…’ I shrugged, writing big-bang, followed by a loitering question mark.

‘A fashion show….’ he continued, as his face went by again.

‘Hmm.’

‘…Headlined by parrots of the rich and famous.’

‘Right… No, that is a good idea, actually,’ I said. ‘You can stop spinning now, Joola.’

…

I told my assistant, Klara, to get working on the invites. It was big. It was bold. But more importantly, we’d be taking over in style.

The Birds of a Feather fashion show was to be held at the Dancing House. Those two glassy towers, embracing in full carefree view of their neoclassical neighbours, provided a superb choice of venue—for were we not also flying in the face of tradition?

…

There were plenty of people bobbing about, many of whom I was assured were famous, or at least had over ten thousand Instagram followers—though none had their parrots with them. Nor, as I probed further, did they even own one in the first place—not a solitary sodding budgie! Luckily, Klara had planned for this scenario, arranging for the models to be rented from various sources.

An elevated conveyor system ensured that the actual bird-walk would go to plan, even if the parrots themselves refused to actually move (they could be notoriously stubborn).

There were a number of pieces to get through before the more conceptual stuff for later, when enough champaign and fine powders had been consumed to fully appreciate it.

First up was our business blazer, the Sterling Crypto-Mint, by up-and-coming New York designer Tracy Perch. Sleek, sophisticated, with all the sharpness needed to survive in a downturn. It was modelled by a large cockatoo, named Kevin, who waddled along to the sound of synth-vape before launching into an unscripted tirade.

‘kiSs mY aSss?!’

‘No, kiss my ass, bird brain!’ a man yelled back, kicking over his chair before being restrained by security.

‘SuCk mY bAaaaAllS?!’

‘Jesus Christ,’ I muttered to Klara, ‘you could have vetted them beforehand.’

I nodded discreetly at the DJ to drown out the profanity, as Kevin was whisked away on the revolving platform.

Next up was Ribena, an African Grey, strutting in a one-piece P-Kini swimsuit, from Lagoon.

‘Doesn’t she just look fabulous?!’ I cried with my newly acquired lisp. But the good behaviour was soon overshadowed when, instead of hopping away, she suddenly plucked out one of her own feathers.

‘Oh dEaR, Oh DeAr—cHAnGe tHe channel, LaURaaaA!’

‘Er, Ribena is actually raising awareness…’ I explained to the stunned faces around me.

…‘LuarA, IT’S ToO BloOody hot in HeRe!? BEEP-BEEP!’

‘For, erm…climate change?’ I continued, turning to Klara, who could only wince as Ribena went for the big reveal: snapping off her garment to expose a mangy pink body, looking about as exotic as a Tesco chicken.

‘ShoW us A bIT oF skIn, Maureeeeen?!’

‘I thought these things were supposed to be glamorous,’ I heard someone say over the booing. This wasn’t going well.

‘Where did you find this one?’ I moaned, gesturing for a member of staff to scoop her up with the net.

‘From a bird sanctuary,’ Klara hissed.

‘From the—?! Oh, that’s just fucking brilliant! Tell you what, next time we’ll just rent them directly from the rabies ward!’

‘I thought it’d be nice to give them a second chance, okay? Oh, and one other thing you might have overlooked… NO ONE HAS PARROTS, YOU FOOL!’ she yelled, dousing my face in champaign and storming off.

Well, that’s what you got when you pushed a German too far, I thought, before shrugging to the witnesses.

Thankfully, the other models were comparatively civil, completing their laps without much fuss, and after a short interval of sushi and Instagram updates, it was time for the more conceptual stuff…

I Know Why the Caged Bird Wins, by Tokyo artist, She-Shi, was profoundly inciteful, yet unapologetically bling—reflecting the self-imposed trappings of our hyper-materialist society: showcased by Percy, a Macaw, in pink sunglasses and a purple velvet jacket decorated in dollar bills, rolling down the aisle inside a golden cage.

Rejuvenated by a whiff of Columbian courage, I slapped my cheek.

‘Very… DIFFERENT! Oh, I absolutely adore it, She-Shi!’ I cried, trying to get the attention of the notoriously elusive artist, before realising I was waving at a fern plant.

Though the real symbolism was yet to come, as the cage opened and Percy took to the air, shedding dollars while he flapped. Yet to my dismay, no one bothered collecting them as they floated back down to earth. In fact, they appeared almost embarrassed at the spectacle…

I mean, really? Soooo cringe and lowbrow, posted an Influencer with a murderous yawn.

‘I’m never getting a parrot as long as I live,’ someone muttered.

‘I hear they’re very difficult animals to keep,’ added another.

Had they misinterpreted Percy’s wonderful gesture as a shameless attempt to buy likes, or did they suspect the dollars were fake?

…

Now this piece would surely save the evening. The Early Bird Catches the Blame, by Fernando Telum: An inspiring vision of reality reimagined—the parrot in question did not walk, as such, but bounced inside a luminous glowing orb, while I vented my enthusiasm.

‘Keep rolling with the times, baby!’

‘Well, this is completely pointless,’ someone groaned.

I whirled round on my seat, eyes bulging in betrayal.

‘I mean, er, completely on-point!’ they hastily added, ‘hashtag, ruling the roost!’

‘Don’t just say it: tweet it this instant or be damned for eternity,’ I growled. It was a good tweet after all, despite its rather conceited origins.

I downed my glass, armed with a clenched smile, as Maria Valetia’s Birds of Pray appeared, silhouetted at the tunnel entrance.

‘She’s really returned to her roots with this one,’ I whispered loudly, as three robed Kakapos with glowstick crosses on their heads waddled past. Yet despite my praise, blasphemy was never in short supply…

‘Man, aren’t those things supposed to be extinct?!’ cracked some wise-ass gen Z.

‘They are now,’ grinned another—#The-Last-Dodo!

Was I going mad? Could I actually hear these insults, or were they being expressed somewhere much darker—where a million other merciless halfwits could pile on?

But it was all too true. Reality had given me my biggest slap so far, as I boarded the memory train to recall how I’d come up with this whole scheme in the first place…

Oh, Jesus. I went pale as I remembered: It was that time in—

Klara was calling. ‘What?!’

‘There’s someone on the roof you should meet…’

‘Isn’t there always?’

‘Like, right now.’

I heard a short discussion in the background, detecting what I thought was an American accent.

In retrospect, perhaps I always knew who I’d hear next. It was as if God had seen enough suffering already and had sent his best angel for the job…

‘Hey, this is Kanye.’

‘Kanye…’ I sighed, without a single doubt. ‘So glad you could make it...’

#Guess-who?

‘But you know you can’t just fly in here without a parrot though,’ I continued, as casually as if we’d been friends forever. Besides, I was beyond caring at this point. Perhaps this was our bond.

‘That’s not Kanye! He lies!’ exclaimed a lowly sinner, struck down the next instant as I put my new best-friend on speaker-phone…

‘Just chill. I’ve got parrots, bro!’

…

‘Excuse me… Coming through!’ I pushed past the stupefied masses, as I made my way to the elevators in reception.

Stepping out onto the roof… and well, what more can I tell you? There he was.

‘I always knew you’d come,’ I murmured, taking in his physical form.

Perched on each shoulder was a beautiful crested cockatoo, in simple polo-neck cashmere shirts with silver trim; upstaged only by the man himself, adorned in a black swan feather coat and magpie boots, by Louis Vuitton Don.

‘Simply outrageous, you mad GOAT!’ I cried, embracing him—nearly getting my earlobe pecked off in the process. They were quite jealous birds, after all.

His transport for this evening was a gleaming black helicopter: the stylish insignia on the tail, the pilot in his Hugo Boss uniform: the epitome of pure, unadulterated aesthetics.

…

The elevator pinged open at reception, as we made our path towards glory, the parrots bobbing happily along.

#Yeezus-Flies and #Swan-Song were now both trending.

Of course, Kayne had to blow us all out of the water with over 14 million likes for his tweet: Time to Spread My Wings! #I’m-Icarus-Bitch

‘Ok, I’m gonna do my thing,’ said the legend himself.

‘Please do,’ I replied with a bow.

They had called me a dreamer. They had called me a fantasist…

Well, who was the fantasist, now? #HatersNOTforgiven

I watched on in a euphoric trance as my lord and saviour glided through the hall to an enchanted hush.

Someone tugged my arm, as if trying to wake me from a blissful dream.

‘Not now, Klara!’

‘I’ve just been going through his tweets.’

‘So?!’

‘He’s changed his name to ‘Ye...’

‘He can change his name to Cumberland Crinklepants for all I care! Don’t you know what this means? We’re going to be huge!’

‘Yeah, but that’s not all. Look...’

It was a sad fact of modern life that even with an actual miracle unfolding right before them, some people were still more obsessed with their phones.

‘Get that thing out of my face, woman!’ I cried, as Ye and his parrots ascended the podium…

‘I can’t see what’s going—’

‘White Lives Matter!’ said one of the cockatoos.

A bubble of disbelief floated on a gasp of the crowd, only to be popped the very next instant by the other cockatoo, who, not to be outdone, flared up with an even louder squawk…

‘WHITE LIVES MATTER!!’

There was a blinding flash behind my eyes, followed by a high-pitched whistling, as if a subsonic missile had been launched directly at my head.

Though even in the most hellish of places there still remained the faintest hope—that even the most extraordinary events held some sort of reasonable explanation. I’d returned from the dead for one last damage-control mission: With all the best intentions, though obviously no expert in ornithology, Ye had accidentally taught them the exact opposite phrase…

…Right? I mean, that had to be it…

Right, Ye?

‘Ye?’

Upon the podium the lyrical genius loomed, as our eyes locked. We’re in this together now, bro, I heard his voice say. With that, he parted his own feathers, revealing a tee-shirt with something written above an innocent rainbow.

‘THAT’S RIGHT, SHEEPLE!’

‘Ye, noooooooo!’

ALL LIVES MATTER!!!

In that moment my soul was ejected from my body. There was no pain now, only a strange throbbing relief that it was all over, as I watched the scene below with a tearful smile:

Klara, trying to shake me from my coma; the wails of those who could never unsee the horror, unhear those terrible words, scrabbling around on hands and knees. Others took shelter under tables, covering their faces in silk cloths in an effort to shield themselves, while staff lunged at the feathery bigots with their nets, attempting to remove them before the contagion spread.

Their efforts were of course in vain, for other parrots were now swooping in from backstage, and, being as clever as they were curious, had soon memorised the forbidden slogans.

With a loving pang in my heart, I watched Klara still battling to protect our dying brand by shouting logic into the frozen faces around her.

‘Look, they’re just dumb birds, okay?! They don’t even know what they’re saying!’

‘OH, YEAH WE DO!’ Ye boomed back, ‘TELL ‘EM, GUYS!’

Such were his powers, that all parrots joined together in a deafening chorus of hate.

It was just complete…complete…

‘Pandemonium?’ suggested Percy, still in his shades, perched on a beam.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s exactly the word I’m looking for.’

‘Well, that’s what happens when you put us all together. Maybe you should have thought about that first.’

Suddenly confronted with a real, educated parrot, I finally had the opportunity to ask a meaningful question…

‘I’m fucked, aren’t I?’

‘As opposed to what?’ replied the Macaw, as I tumbled back to reunite with my flesh suit. When I could see through my own eyes again, the architect of my downfall was nowhere to be seen.

Just typical!

A few of the birds had been caught and bundled off, though most had made a tactical retreat to higher ground, from where they continued to insult every value held dear.

‘We need to go,’ I murmured to Klara, sensing a brooding vengeance in the air. We started our walk, hoping to reach the exit before anyone noticed us.

‘Hey, thanks for coming! Great to see you! We’ll podcast,’ I blurted automatically, as we weaved our way through the horde, who, now nearly fully thawed from their initial shock, were buzzing in hostility.

‘She-Shi, darling!’ I said.

But something wasn’t quite right, even for her, as she charged at us with teeth bared.

‘That’s not She-Shi any more,’ said Klara, grabbing an ice-carving of a parrot on a surfboard and hurling it into her path.

Thanks to that and a few other manoeuvres we made it outside—escaping the storm, we stepped into a tornado: paparazzi, protestors, various NPCs waiting for their next upgrade. Far from being the genius fashion tycoon, I was now an evil monster.

On the cold air floated the sound of sirens, flashing blue lights were closing in from every direction. There was no use running anymore. The dark swirling waves of the river would be my watery after-party. Though before I could meet my eternal sleep, there was a rumble from the clouds. A helicopter was descending. Hovering just inches above the street, the cabin door opened…

‘Come with Ye if you want to live,’ said the man himself.

I glanced into the river, then back at the helicopter. Of the two things I’d never done before, this still seemed like the better option. Just then I noticed the insignia on the tail: not the obscure hip-hop logo I’d mistaken it for, but something else entirely…

‘Oh, you have got to be shitting me!’ I said, immediately recoiling.

‘Oh, you mean that thing?’ Ye gave a bemused shrug. ‘Man, that’s just an ancient symbol for peace, law and abundance! Tell him, Hans, my man!’

‘Das ist richtig, ja!’ exclaimed the pilot. ‘Besides, est ist zee wrong vay round!’ he chuckled.

‘I’m taking an Uber,’ announced Klara.

Luckily Ye’s cockatoos had nothing more to add to the matter—perhaps more worried, as we all were, with the mob surging towards us. It was either our career, our life, or both. But why die twice when once was enough?

‘Just get in!’ #Giving angels wings again!

‘Ok, Ye…Genius tweet… BUT I DO NOT CONDONE THIS!’

I clambered on as the helicopter began its ascent. Suddenly a hand snatched hold of the landing rail—then another. Then a figure hauled itself up with a bestial grunt and proceeded to go full goblin mode, thrashing his arms around in an attempt to latch hold of someone, which unfortunately happened to be me.

‘I’ll show you!…I’ll show you!’ it screeched… ‘I’LL SHOW YOU WHOSE LIFE MATTERS!’

‘Listen, can’t we just talk about this?! #time4dialogue’

But the bald, shrunken head with its dark sunken eyes showed no logic or reason, only the nihilistic desire to destroy us all. I kicked frantically at him with my free leg, managing only to dislodge myself further from safety.

‘Ye, for God’s sake…DO SOMETHING!’ I wailed.

Ye appeared, peering over the torrid scene with great calmness. Why have you disturbed me from my mixtape? his eyes seemed to ask, as with an unspoken command, his cockatoos swooped into the fray. They could be extremely vicious when they wanted to be, with their sharp talons and beaks, as the goblin tumbled into the darkness below…

‘YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY WITH THIS! #CAAAAAAANCELLED’

…

From high above the city appeared enticingly calm once again, as I looked over at Ye.

‘So, how’s the new album going?’ I asked.

Illustrated by Dr Jon Holiga.