Blue Tara; Or, How Is a Hyacinth Macaw Parrot Like a Tibetan Goddess?

I originally got a parrot because an old black guy with parrots convinced me it would help me pick up chicks. And I don't mean the poultry kind. Picked out a parrot at this old black guy's bird store here in Seattle that was big, blue, and loud. And a princess. The loudness I didn't learn about until it was too late. But that was the least of my problems. First of all, turns out I didn't actually pick out the parrot. The parrot picked me. Not only was the parrot big, blue, and loud. And a princess. The parrot was a witch. Not a figurative or allegorical witch. A literal witch. A witch of the spell casting kind. The abracadabra kind. A witch with a coffee addiction, and a penchant for pizza and beer. Once I entered the bird store the parrot cast a spell. The kind of spell that caused me to clean out my bank account for a big, loud, blue-feathered witch. The kind of witch that did not abide with girlfriends. The kind of witch that did not abide with not getting her way. The kind of witch that turned out to be my guardian angel and the proverbial albatross around my neck at the same time. A witch named Princess Tara.

Princess Tara was on a mission to save the world from a diabolically evil and mystical cannibal warlock named Hamatsa and his zombie army of the dead, along with his shapeshifting minion, his procurer of bodies, Kinqalatlala. Princess Tara needed the help of a couple of history professors to discover the ancient spells and magic necessary to defeat these ghouls. That would be me and my colleague and good friend Mike. All I wanted to do was put my failing academic career behind me and roast coffee. Oh, and snag a date with a cute barista I knew. But before Princess Tara could save the world, she needed me to save her from a dumpy little bird store she was stuck in. Too late I remembered the old Chinese proverb, save a life, and you're responsible for that life forever.