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

“The Rudest Animal Convention”

It started, as most bizarre global events do, on a Tuesday. A mysterious ripple in the space-time-animal-communication continuum allowed humans to finally understand animals—and worse, animals could now understand us. The United Nations hastily organized the First Annual Inter-Species Convention for Mutual Understanding, which, in hindsight, should have had more security and fewer microphones.

The goal? Peaceful inter-species dialogue.

The result? Total chaos.

The moment the convention began, a smug cat named Duchess strutted up to the podium, flicked her tail, and said, “It’s about time you learned your place. We’ve always been in charge. We just let you pretend otherwise because you’re good at opening cans.”

The audience laughed nervously. Duchess licked her paw, clearly unbothered.

A seagull dive-bombed the mic next. “LISTEN UP, LOSERS!” he screamed, already chewing someone’s sandwich. “You thought pigeons were bad? Please. We’re the aerial overlords. You got fries? No? Then shut up.”

He flapped away, pooping mid-flight on the international flag display. The Canadian delegate wept silently.

Next came Kevin, a raccoon in a stained hoodie he’d found in a dumpster. “Y’all call me ‘trash panda’? That’s rich coming from a species that eats microwaved hot dogs and calls it ‘meal prep.’”

The room gasped.

A French poodle tried to restore order, saying, “Please, let’s keep zis civil—”

“Civil?” barked a Chihuahua from the back. “Oh, you mean like the time you bit that toddler on TikTok and blamed it on ‘anxiety’?”

Even the fish in the aquarium winced.

At this point, animals began swarming the stage. A goat named Gary headbutted the coffee table, bleating, “You people scream when we poop on a hiking trail, but your dog does it every day on the sidewalk and you call it ‘walkies.’ Hypocrisy!”

A group of squirrels took the mic next but were so hopped up on adrenaline and sunflower seeds that no one understood a word they said. It mostly sounded like rapid-fire accusations and conspiracy theories about birds being government drones.

Then came Carl, a goose in sunglasses.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he honked. “You think we’re rude? We’re just honest. You come to our pond, feed us stale bread, and expect us to be grateful? Bread isn't even good for us, Brenda.”

A cow stood in the corner, chewing slowly. “This is why I don’t talk,” she murmured. “Too much drama.”

The moderator, a golden retriever in a bowtie named Buddy, tried to regain control. “Okay everyone, let’s just remember that we’re all friends—”

“Speak for yourself, you overly happy doormat,” muttered a parrot perched on the chandelier. “I’ve met houseplants with more backbone.”

At this point, the human delegates were under their tables, rethinking every zoo trip, petting zoo visit, and episode of Planet Earth they’d ever seen.

Finally, a wise old tortoise made her way to the stage. It took her 25 minutes. By then, the weasels had started a black market snack trade, the hyenas were howling with laughter over memes they’d made on a stolen iPad, and the dolphins had already left in protest—apparently, the pool wasn’t “deep enough for serious thinkers.”

When the tortoise arrived, she looked at the crowd and simply said, “You had it coming.”

And just like that, the feed was cut, the microphones fried (courtesy of an electric eel who was “done with the nonsense”), and the animals walked—or strutted—away.

The humans sat in stunned silence.

Turns out, the rudest animal wasn’t just one species. It was most of them. We just never had the ability to hear their sass—until now.