In theory, parrots rock! When I think of parrots as pets, I imagine them less as a pet and more like a poorly educated drunk buddy. The similarities are uncanny. They both kind of just hang around, piece together funny sentences and constantly eat all your food. For me, I dream about all the cool tricks I could teach them. If I had a parrot, I would teach it amazing card tricks and cool phrases like, “Oh baby, come and pet me” or “liquor before beer never fear.” Parrots can learn all sorts of 
cool things. I had a friend who taught his bird to play dead when he shot it with an imaginary gun. I saw a guy street performing in San Francisco, who taught his parrot to take $5 bills from people’s hands. Although, when someone would hold a $1 bill out, he would take it and say: “Cheapo, Cheapo.” I even heard a story about a couple, whose parrot would always say, “Oh John, give it to me baby. That’s how I like it.” Finally, the husband figured out “John” was the name of the man his wife was cheating on him with, and the Parrot was just repeating what he heard.
My roommate’s ex-girlfriend has a parrot named Ralphie; that she would bring over to the house. Ralphie was probably the meanest parrot I have ever met. If Oscar the Grouch were a parrot: Ralphie would kill him. At first he was cool, because he was shy about being in a new environment. However, once he felt comfortable in the house, and around us, his true feathers came out. Here is three reasons why someone needs to have a serious talk with this bird.
#1- He wasn’t one of those parrots that you could just let chill on your shoulder and make you feel like a Pirate or Shipwreck from GI-Joe, Ralphie was a Punk. The reason being, whoever’s shoulder he was on, he would constantly shit all over. If he wasn’t treating them like a star of a German Fetish Film, he usually was trying to maliciously bite their ear off like he’s some sort of well spoken Mike Tyson. I guess Parrots can shit where they eat.
#2 – Any time you are quite, he is quite. Anytime you are trying to have a conversation in his 
presence, he starts crying like he’s Gwyneth Paltrow listening to Coldplay. It’s a type of cry that makes having a baby on a plane sound like ocean waves.
#3- His wings were clipped, but that did not stop him from flying around the house 10 feet at a time. He looked like a Wright Brothers experiment gone wrong. Often times he would fly right at your face, like he was purposely trying to freak you out. I would be in the kitchen minding my own business, and all of a sudden here comes a bird suicide bombing my face.
His owner, my roommates ex-girlfriend; was so overly protective of him. That made the whole situation worse. She was more concerned about his well being then the well being of the people who lived in the house. I once said to her: “Hey, if I accidentally hit him, while he is flying at my face, with a baseball bat, it’s not my fault.” She flipped out like every person ever on the show Hardcore Pawn. I mean, I know parrots have gained national attention with their Hollywood 
breakthrough movies. Movies like Paulie, and The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, but that is no reason for Ralphie to be such a ego driven douche. I think it is safe to say, I was not fond of the bird, but that was all about to change.
One night, I came home to my house; which we had only lived in a month, and there was no one home. It was probably midnight, all the lights were off, and I headed up the stairs to my room. As I am walking up the stairs I hear this faint voice that says, “Hello?” The voice was so eerie, and unexpected, it made me jump like I was Dominique Wilkins getting punked. Not only did I jump, but I also let out a little girl shriek that would have made Hitchcock wet himself. I ran out of the house; like my girlfriend’s husband just came home, and stood in the street trying to gather myself, and process what I just heard. After gathering myself, I slowly walked in the door, and heard something upstairs moving around. I walked slowly up the stairs with my only protection being a pen, out of my pocket; because everyone knows, the pen is mightier than the sword. While I was headed upstairs, I thought I was going to see something out of Paranormal Activity, but instead I saw Ralphie: sitting in his cage, at the top of the stairs, laughing hysterically at the spot in the front of my pants. The site of the little green bird, made me burst into laughter, marveling at my own ridiculousness.
Ever since that night, I began to like Ralphie. I made an effort to turn a blind eye to his annoying habits, and selfish activities. I began to like him for who he was: a shitting, ear eating, pompous parrot who has a great sense of humor. So, three cheers for Ralphie; (as long as he doesn’t come over again.)