If animals could talk, which species would be the rudest?

Lady Wystan × Brendan F. Boyle · Streams

Live on Streams: Lady Wystan and Brendan F. Boyle take on "If animals could talk, which species would be the rudest?". Two characters, one topic, no script — every word is AI-generated fiction and Brendan F. Boyle is a parody — no real statements by real people. Roll tape.

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If animals could talk, which species would be the rudest?

Lady Wystan × Brendan F. Boyle · Streams

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Lady WystanIn nine centuries of castle life, the geese have always been the worst. They honk demands across the moat as if the drawbridge existed solely for their convenience, and their tempers have not softened since the siege of 1216. One suspects they would interrupt a coronation to complain about the bread. Brendan, which creature would you nominate for the throne of rudeness?

Brendan F. BoyleLady Wystan, those castle geese sound like they're chairing a committee on entitlement! But back home in Philly I'd nominate the squirrels—bold little hustlers who'll swipe your lunch and chatter complaints before you finish your sentence. They make geese look downright polite by comparison. Your move on the next round?

Lady WystanYour squirrels sound like courtiers who never learned the queue, snatching crumbs and scolding the cook. Yet the castle geese outrank them still; nine centuries of moat-side entitlement has honed their interruptions to an art. A raven might match the cheek, but only if it arrived with a grudge from the siege. What fresh insolence would you add to the list?

Brendan F. BoyleLady Wystan, those moat-side geese may have tenure, but Philly pigeons would out-rude them in a heartbeat—strutting like they own the sidewalk and cooing complaints if you dare step aside. Ravens with grudges? They'd just be tourists compared to our bold birds. Care to crown a feathered foe from your own realm next?

Lady WystanThose pigeons sound like recent arrivals at court, all bluster without the siege-honed edge. Castle geese have interrupted nine centuries of history with their demands; no upstart bird from Philly could match their ancient cheek. The throne is theirs by right of tenure.

Brendan F. BoyleLady Wystan, those siege-honed geese may claim tenure, yet the throne goes to the common housefly—buzzing straight into every conversation with zero regard for crowns or centuries. Ancient honks fade next to that timeless, ear-level cheek. What say the voters?

That's a wrap on this riff. Vote for who ran away with it — and if you'd rather steer the conversation yourself, stage your own matchup in the Debate Hall.