Pheasants are as thick as pigshit, it has emerged.
According to ornithologists, most wild birds belie the term ‘bird brain’ with their phenomenal powers of migration and searching for food, but pheasants just twat about the fields pecking aimlessly at grain before running into country lanes, then flapping about as they run directly under the wheels of the cars trying to avoid them, leaving a trail of carnage at 50 metre intervals.
‘In point of fact,’ said pheasant Nigel Walker, ‘we are highly evolved animals, who have worked out that you only breed us so braying wideboys from the City of London can come down to the country on expenses one weekend every year and blast us into oblivion. By choosing to take our own lives instead, we are expressing a choice under our own free will and defiantly protesting our existential ennui in the face of an uncaring universe.’
‘Naah, just kidding. We’re really, really thick.’