Asimovian conversation

I promised you more Fergie, so when I nipped out to sign some corporate documents for our CEO, I caught these on the way back.

Nearer home we stopped to wash the car, to get rid of the powdered fertiliser the Rude Farmer had covered the neighbourhood with. My lunging about with the brush and squirtything was the object of corvid fascination. Mrs Oons was watching from the car as I moved from left side to right, and she says the crow's head followed me, while he called to his missus, there's another of those idiots here with nothing better to do than cover his metal thing in water.

When I had finished a blackbird seemed to materialise beside me, worm in beak. Oh, I said, where did you spring from? (We talk to birds in our house.)

He replied, I fell through a wormhole in the space-time continuum, catching this worm. Now I can't find the hole to climb back.

That's a bit of a poser, I said. What are you going to do? 

He said, I've tried Twitter but nobody can help.

At this point I thought he might be making stuff up, and came home for a cup of tea.