When a group of fellow orniphiles sat down in a sweaty boardroom outside LaCrosse, Wisconsin in August of 2004, they didn’t know their little “perversion” would soon become a tri-statewide movement.

That word. Perversion. Makes my skin crawl, my stomach turn and my scrotum contract. Where’s the perversion in loving another one of God’s creatures? Where’s the deviance in wanting to pull feathers rather than blond hair? What’s abnormal about wanting to see your wife take a three-inch beak instead of a 10-inch African American phallus or a silicon, injection-molded forearm? How can a human vagina or anus even compare to hollow bones or a molty egg-hole. Hah!