Okey-dokey limpdicks: I think you all know why we’re here today, so I’m not going to beat around the bush. You’re probably wondering where the program director is. Well, he’s off at some backwater ornithology conference in Bumfuckistan, and I’m here to make sure you inbred cretins don’t screw everything up.
This morning there was a sewage spill off the coast of Annapolis that affected a metric shit-ton of shorebird nests. You chuckleheads are gonna wash those birds until there is nary a speck of sewage on a single feather, capiche? If it has wings and a beak, you move your ass and wash it. Any questions? That’s what I thought.
I run a tight ship around here. If every towel, soap bottle, and sponge isn’t accounted for when we’re done there will be hell to pay. What’s that? No, shithead, you can’t leave early. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re all volunteers. These beautiful baby birds aren’t gonna fuckin’ wash themselves.
See those plover chicks over there? Look into their sweet little black eyes. Closer. Closer! Those are precious lives, and you numbnuts are going to save them. Now move it!
Oh hell no, that washing technique is all wrong. Have you ever even seen a tern before? Be gentle on the goddamn wings. These little fuckers are fragile, you understand? Easy on the beaks, dammit!
Christ, do I have to show you dumbasses how to do everything? I didn’t get my Environmental Science degree just so I could supervise a fuckin’ daycare center. Who was assigned to the herons? You, yeah you, get your head out of your ass and scrub those majestic creatures!
I’m surrounded by ignoramuses. Is this the kind of shitshow that passes for shorebird conservation around here? What a goddamn disgrace. You morons are damn lucky I showed up; it’s like I have to keep track of the whole fuckin’ Chesapeake Bay ecosystem myself. That shit has five trophic levels.
Come on, pick up the pace before I really lose it. You’re all idiots but the birds don’t know that. And leave me the hell alone. I’m not here for you, I’m here for the birds.