Are you a Vulture or a Sculpture?

“SQQQQUUUAWWKK!!” or whatever noise they make.

Vultures have a bit of a bad reputation. When you think of them, you see some poor animal recently slain with all the good bits missing, and now these lazy vagabond birds are there to pick at what’s left. So it’s fairly easy to think of vultures as the animal world’s equivalent of workshy freeloaders. In actual actuality, their evolutionary development is pretty nifty; why bother exerting energy when you can let the other idiots do it? So these winged beasts loiter on trees, have a bit of a fly about, chillax and what have you. Let the more advanced lions and what have you (yes – we dared to use “what have you” consecutively) do the hard work, and then take what’s left. They’re in direct competition with Hyenas, of course, who have a similar habit of laughing their arses off whilst the other animals do the hard work. Hyenas are the animal world’s equivalent of some petulant chav, but this is a story for another bay. Er, day.

Today, to put your minds at ease about these birds, we’re comparing them to sculptures. We’re not sure why, but knowing we’re a sculpture (and not a vulture), really puts our brains in a nice place. We hope you can join us. Take the test, dammit!

Do you hang around carcasses?

"Must consume dead animal flesh!"
“Must consume dead animal flesh!”

Yes? Well, sir/madam, you are a vulture. Plain and shimple. If you find yourself lingering around dead things (the meat department in supermarkets, the fish counter, the Pot Noodle aisle) then you’re a vulture. Got a problem with it? Get over yourself, yo!

Are you a massive stone head who is unable to move?

Stern? You bet!
Stern? You bet!

The Moai on Easter Island have had a bit of a problem over “da” last few hundred and odd years. They can’t budge an inch. The occupants of the island have long since scarpered elsewhere, leaving these massive heads with very little to do. It must get pretty boring, apart from the occasional film crew going out there to record them. Anyway, if you are like this, then you are a statue. Woe be you.

Are you classed as a work of art?

The Thinker: "Why am I naked and out in the open?"
The Thinker: “Why am I naked and out in the open?”

If you came boxed in a box with a certificate in the box stating you’re a Work Of Art, then you can presume you are so. Naturally this will be debated by “critics”, but then what do “critics” know”?” Well, for one, they know who to critique stuff, but that’s irrelevant as they’re not the statue who has to sit there doing nothing for eternity. A total violation of human rights. For shame!

Are you in a museum whilst thousands of art critics bicker about your visual representations?

"Er, this is a zoo sign PM." Yeah, and zoos are considered Living Museums. So there.
“Er, this is a zoo sign PM.” Yeah, and zoos are considered Living Museums. So there.

Do you find turgid individuals standing around you, discussing stuff with big words and hand gestures? Chances are you’re trapped in the hellish nightmare of an art museum. This likely makes you a sculpture, unless you’re a vulture who is badly lost and accidentally strayed into a modern art museum. By ‘eck, what kind of denotation, and connotation, could one decode from such an occurrence? More importantly, how would you get a vulture out of an art museum? We should imagine with a shovel.

Is dead stuff tasty?

"I like dead stuff."
“I like dead stuff.”

To be fair, a lot of us do eat dead stuff. Fish, chicken, turkey, cow… it kind of has to be dead before you eat it. What we don’t get, right, is this: is vegetables dead when it arrives in supermarkets? Trees are kind of alive, as are vegetables, but are, like, bags of spinach still alive? If you find yourself wondering about this, as we do, then you are a sculpture.

Are you missing your nose?

Spinhxy of Egypt.
Spinhxy of Egypt.

If so, you are The Sphinx. Now, to be fair, the Sphinx can’t really help his/her situation. She/he was constructed about 50 years ago and, thanks to shoddy workmanship, the nose fell off. British Chavs stole the nose, and it currently resides on Barry Manilow’s face (tropical humour, see? We’re ded clever). Anyway, if you are The Sphinx, you’re not a vulture. Rest easy.

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