European starlings are the bird kingdom's equivalent of the Hell's Angels. Traveling in large, noisy, packs of pure misanthropy, starlings invade a territory, bully the locals, glean every last morsel to be found and then swarm to another unsuspecting locale. True to their antisocial leanings, starlings do not warble, chirp or sing; rather they groan and growl like drunken louts looking to bust up a bar. They are graceful neither walking nor in flight, and with plumage like a parking lot oil slick, they ain't much to look at, either. Even their speckling looks like the work of a fifth-rate jailhouse tattooist.
Here is a unusually small flock of three doing what starlings do best: plunder, waddle and pillage. Check them out in spectacular HD video:
OK, so maybe we've caught them in a postgluttonous, hangover state of relative calm, but you can be sure that these ruffians are merely resting up for another day of reprobate binging.
Starlings! God may have made them, but only the devil could love them.