That Time a Parrot Cussed Out ADT
How drunk was I?
My brother used to throw some absolute bangers of New Year’s Eve parties back when we could stay up past 9:30. Now it sounds positively awful. Do people know the new year will come whether they stay up to greet it or not?
Anyway, this one particular party in the mid-2000’s was exceptional. We stayed up well past midnight and much merriment, sheet pizza, and Fireball shots were had by all. We even made a new friend— Polly the Foul-Mouthed Parrot! Someone gifted my brother the plushy version of me for Christmas and I had never felt so seen. Or heard.
Polly was motion activated so whenever someone came close, the parrot would rattle off a string of preprogrammed ribald insults like Who’s a pretty parrot? Not you, lard ass! Or my personal favorite: Dickhead alert! As you can imagine, Polly, along with the dude who brought the bagpipes and the woman who tried to throw up out the window—without opening the window—overstayed their welcome pretty quickly.
I’m no dummy, but I am family so I staked a claim on the guest room. When my brother and I both went to sleep in beds like proper drunk people, we left a handful of our fellow attendees scattered across the living room like…well…drunk people. My brother’s cat was busy eating something out of someone’s hair as I made my way up the stairs. Cats are so gross.
At some point around 4 AM one of sleeping drunks reanimated like a Walking Dead extra and left the house tripping the alarm in the process. (Can we get a fist bump for my brother who probably sweat cinnamon and hops for the next six days, but still remembered to turn on his house alarm? Safety first!) The sounds of a piercing wail filled the house for at least three minutes before we heard it and the subsequent phone call from an ADT rep woke us up.
I heard my brother rush down the stairs to answer the phone— a landline! I assumed if it was a true emergency, he would have told me to get out. (Terrible assumption. My brother later confirmed he would have left without me, but only because he forgot I was there.)
“No, everything is fine,” I heard him say to the person on the line. “Someone left without realizing the alarm was on.”
Makes perfect sense. And then I heard:
“WHO’S A FUCKER?”
Whoa. These are your friends, man! They probably woke up to find half their ponytail in your cat’s litter box! A little compassion!
“What?” my brother said. “I didn’t say anything. Hang on. I’m looking for my password.”
“DICKHEAD ALERT!!!”
That voice. Familiar. Ohhhhh, Polly has awoken and she is not a morning parrot.
My brother laughed nervously. “Oh you can hear that? Sorry.”
“WHO’S A PRETTY BIRD?”
“It’s my parrot. Yes, everything is fine! Just need my password!”
“NOT YOU, LARD ASS!”
“No, I did not call you a lard ass! Polly did! I don’t know how to make her stop!”
“GO FUCK YOURSELF!”
“No, that is not me! It’s my parrot! She’s a toy! POLLY! Shut up!”
“SHOW ME YOUR TITTIES!”
“I didn’t say that!!!! I would never say that! NO! Do not dispatch the police! I live here!”
My brother was really flailing now which a motion-activated sweary bird loves.
“GO FUCK YOURSELF! DICKHEAD ALERT! LARD ASS LARD ASS LARD ASS!”
Okay, emergency or not, I had to get up, and not just to help my brother find the Post-It note on the side of his fridge that read: ALARM PASSWORD. I had to bear witness to my panicked brother on a landline trying to convince an ADT service rep that:
she did not need to send the police
she was not a lard ass or a dickhead
he lived here despite not being able to remember his password
he did not in fact want to see her titties— Polly, his toy parrot did
“Shut the hell up, Polly!” I yelled.
“GO FUCK YOURSELF!” she yelled back.
Gosh, I loved this bird.
I found her off switch and the Post-It. My brother cleared the alarm, but not his name. For whatever reason, Angelica from ADT wasn’t buying the whole “That’s my stuffed parrot” story. We reheated some pizza, Polly was relegated to the garage, and we went back to sleep.
I don’t know what became of the passed out party patrons who didn’t wake up during this ordeal or worse, Polly the Insulting Parrot. My son would love her. But urban legend has it that if your new year starts off with you having to flip a literal bird right into the garage to prevent the police from coming to your house, you’re off to a good start. Things can only improve.
Wishing all you dickheads a very happy, healthy, and funny 2025!
XO,
Shelly
How the hell did I not know about Polly back then? I would have hidden it somewhere in my parents' house to drive them insane. Who's a fucker? Me. I'm a fucker.
I truly hope Temu sells this bird. I want one! 🤣 Also - it’s too soon for me to talk about fireball 🥵 🤮 and HNY to you too, dickhead! 😘