There is a lack of stories about Gargoyles

There is a lack of stories about Gargoyles and pigeons. Perhaps because the two are far too busy fighting to detail their chronicles. This is the story of a little stone boy name

d Doyle the Gargoyle. Doyle loved Pigeon Peas but hey were hard to grow on the roof tops. Not enough soil for proper growth. Then he found out he hadn't been eating Pigeon Peas it

turned out he'd been literally eating Pigeons, their flesh formed into little 1 cm spheres and boiled in green-dyed water. But hey they were pretty tasty, so what the hell.

The problem was what happened later. The avian power pellets had done strange things to him. Pain. Waves of shivers. He noticed his arms sprouting

feathers and his arms became claw-like. He found he could only sleep while grasping his wife's pole-dancing pole. When he started whistling every morning a 4 a.m. their marriage

took a turn for the worst. They sought marriage counseling. She explained her wants; He needed a cracker. It got worse when he strated pecking at his own reflection. The newspapers

lining the bottom of his crate desperately needed changing but she couldn't be bothered. When protective services finally arrived the large yellow

rubbishy thing was removed from the scene, restoring tranquility and order. The clouds, slowly, began to clear up, and all introspection ceased. One foot in front of the other,

I propelled myself through the moon-less darkness, and erroneously hurtled beyond the curve of the walking route and into the bay. The water still below me, a timid "Help!" passed