I love The New York Times.  It’s full of new information and it comes right to your house; you don’t even need to turn your computer on to read it.  It’s not all good though.  Every Sunday morning it contains an irresistible nugget of shit, the “Ethicist” column.  Wealthy, mildly deranged people with slightly guilty consciouses write in to have their sins absolved by The New York Times.  They ask piddling, self justifying questions that sometimes end with the one word sentence “Ethical?”.  As much as I loathe this part of the paper it’s always one of the first things I read on Sunday mornings.  I’m impossibly drawn to it,  like sheriff Bullock said about “Family Circus”, it’s just there, “waiting to suck“.  I almost never read the answers (why should I give a shit what the NYT guy thinks?), it’s the questions that make it so wretchedly attractive and this morning’s contained a doozy:

My husband and I spent substantial time and money to entice bluebirds to our yard. This included a squirrel- and snakeproof bluebird house, special tasty food (which entailed keeping mealworms in my refrigerator), available water and other amenities. Then an interloper nested in our bluebird house and laid five eggs. When is it permissible to destroy a nest of undesirable feathered folk? We want bluebirds, not common yard sparrows.

First of all: fuck you, lady.  Second: