Why Are You So Angry, Birds?

Look, Fowl Freaks, whatever your beef is with the pigs, setting yourself on fire and launching yourself as a homemade bomb through a crudely made sling shot. I have to ask you to leave my boyfriend out of it.
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My boyfriend has been brainwashed by these crazy militant activists and I fear I'm losing him. I hardly see him anymore. He's obsessed with these nuts. And even when he is sitting in front of me, he's not really "there." He's constantly checking his phone, seeing what his new flock of friends are up to. Checking to see if they've settled the score with their nemesis.

The strange thing is, I'm not even really sure who or what it is these jokers are fighting. There is no clear message. Sure, I know they're really angry. Everyone by now knows that. The way they've taken to the streets and the airwaves to promote themselves. The constant bombarding, over and over again. But somewhere it's taken a violent turn. How do you go from protester to suicide bomber? What compels someone to want to blow them self up for a cause?

OK. We get it. You're angry. You can hurl your hatred at a crudely built structure all you want. But if you don't have a solution, or a goal in mind, then it's just anarchy.

So I ask you. What is it, Angry Birds? What are you fighting for?

I don't know exactly when you sucked my boyfriend into your cause. And I don't know what these pigs ever did to you. Did they build on your sacred land? Do you need to occupy the capitalist pigs that swindled you with subprime loans? Or is it more of a deep-rooted hatred of a democratic Judeo-Christian way of life that you feel you must launch yourself at with explosives in the name of Allah?

Honestly, it took me a while to intervene. When I first heard your name, I thought you were some Pitchfork hipster indie band that was touring with Deerhoof or Of Montreal. I kept telling myself "I've got to download some Angry Birds off iTunes and take a listen." But the glazed look in my boyfriend's eye. His obsession with killing pigs. The bloodshed. The terrible bacon bloodshed. I knew this wasn't your average indie rock crush. No, this was much deeper. This was a Call Of Duty, PTSD gamer obsession glaze. Angry Birds are serious. They are here to recruit our young men and women and they want them to kill.

Look, Fowl Freaks, whatever your beef is with the pigs, I have to ask you to leave my boyfriend out of it. Yes, we all need to stand up for what we believe in. I believe we need to stop tyranny and injustice. But setting yourself on fire and launching yourself as a homemade bomb through a crudely made sling shot is not the answer. Take a cue from Wile E. Coyote. You're going to lose in the end.

Look at it this way: Every human you get to play your game, is one human you've mesmerized into a stupor who can no longer function in the real world. They are impervious to anything around them. They're anti social drones. They speak in monosyllabic grunts. They drool. And they are unable to take action to help your plight against the pigs. So instead of programming soldiers into your ACME slingshot army, why don't you enlist us as UN-styled diplomats? The killing will stop, you can settle your differences, and I get my boyfriend back. Everybody wins.

Now if I can just get him to stop playing Robot Unicorn Attack.

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