Blue Jay Blues

Jason drained the rest of his Heineken and slammed the empty bottle on the formica kitchen counter. He absently patted his shirt pockets for matches.
“New house, same old crap,” he said.
Jenny came in from the living room and adjusted her tube top. “It's not a new house, we've been here for six months now.” She reached back and put up her hair. “If you can't handle quitting smoking, go get yourself a job. But you're not using my money to buy cigarettes with.”
They both glared at each other until a sudden flurry of wings followed by loud screeching startled them.
Jason looked at the backyard. “That's another thing I hate about this damn place; those stupid Blue Jays.” He got up and opened the refrigerator. “Ah, baby, we're out of beer. You got a few bucks I can borrow, hon?”
Jen watched the busy Blue Jays in the backyard. She didn't look at Jason. She just said, “How can we be out of beer, if I don't even drink?”



Mr. and Mrs. Bluejay finally landed in the scrabble dirt amid the dead Oak leaves. Mr. Bluejay stuck his beak into several spots in the ground. He almost gave up, but suddenly, he spied a sunflower seed laying on the patio. He snatched it into his long, shiny black beak.
“This place has really gone downhill the last few months,” he said.
Mrs. Bluejay agreed. “Yes, we used to get choice, ripe peanuts.”
Mr. Bluejay cracked the seed open. “Yes, but now all they ever have are these sunflower seeds--” He spit it out. “Yech, jalepeno flavored, again.”