He's 'Avin a Go at The Birds Now!

Bloody scrounging birds! No, this isn't another dig at women, it's the feathered variety which has got me shopping about for an air rifle this time.
I feed the birds in my garden. Ok, no big deal, loads of people do. Thing is, the feeder pictured was filled to the brim last night and by lunchtime today the greedy bastards had eaten most of it! There are about five other feeders in the back garden alone and all of them have been damn-near emptied in a matter of hours.
I know you are supposed to give the birds a helping hand during the lean winter months but this is taking the piss. It's fucking ridiculous. I am being taken for a mug. On top of that, I think I am contributing to an obesity crisis among the feathery fat-arses to rival the one us and the Americans are experiencing.
I'm spending a bleeding fortune on bird seed to keep these insatiable wankers happy and all the while the SS Pither Finances is going down with all fucking hands! Christ knows what I will have for dinner today, the labels have fallen off all the tins, and no gullible do-gooder is going to come round with some free, tasty tit-bits for ME.

Your bird seed or your life, short-arse!

I'm going to start keeping a closer eye on the garden. Either I've got flocks of dole-cheat-style sparrows, tits, finches and the like of almost Biblical proportions camped outside, just waiting to sponge off me, or one 9ft-tall, 28-stone plover or something is waddling in once a day for a Mr Creosote-style feeding-frenzy.
Now I know why Hitchcock made The Birds - he must have hated the buggers as well. Corpulent birds with over-active thyroids and appetites like Cyril Smith's - get 'em Granthamed!