The friendly Mr. A. Parrot gives us some kernels of information about how
seamlessly with the flock of 2nd class passengers.
"Squawk! What the bleedin' hell you asking me for? I'm a parrot! Parrots don't have
rules! Parrots break rules! That's what we're here for. Birds aren't supposed to talk -
parrots bleedin' well talk! That's one rule broken for a start. You could try asking a
Great Crested Grebe, but you'd be there all bleedin' day, waiting for them to stop prancing
around on the water. Stupid floppy things. Give the avian kingdom a bad name, they do.
Not like parrots. Parrots are the uncrowned kings of the avian domain, and no mistake.
Only trouble is, those flea-bitten Swans take all the credit. Bloody Swans - hate'em.
Swanning around the place like they own it. Wouldn't have happened in my day. I used to
come here when it was all just fjords! Wreerk!
Well if you're desperate for rules, buster, here are my rules for being a parrot:
- Any chicken you find is my chicken! Don't give it to that horrible green monstrosity.
It's my chicken - MY chicken, all right?
- And the same goes for any pistachio nuts too - they're all property of yours truly.
You want a rule, you got one - all passengers must relinquish all pistachio nuts to me for
immediate scoffing! Wraark!
- Vreeeerk! What do you think I am - some sort of addled Moorhen? Aaaarrk!
- And keep your bloody hands off my perch! It's mine! Gleeaaarrchk! Screeeeech!"