the ethics of Turing people into pigeon's 2: to beak or not to beak

Ladies and Gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, confused bystanders, and future birds,

Today, I rise—much like a startled pigeon from a park bench—to address a matter of utmost philosophical gravity: the ethics of turning people into pigeons.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Why would we turn people into pigeons?" And to that, I say: Why not?

We live in an age of scientific marvels. We’ve mapped the human genome, created AI that writes sonnets, and invented bread that lasts three months in a drawer. Is it truly such a leap to imagine a world where we can turn your Uncle Greg into a fine, feathered city bird?

Let us consider, first, consent—a cornerstone of all ethical transformation-based magic. Turning someone into a pigeon without their express permission is, frankly, fowl play. It’s one thing to surprise someone with cake; it’s another to surprise them with a new species and a sudden craving for half-eaten hot dogs.

But let’s assume they do consent. Is it ethical then?

On one wing—I mean, hand—pigeons live a simple life. No taxes. No deadlines. Just flapping, pecking, and occasional interpretive dance in front of tourists.

On the other wing: Pigeons are not well-respected in society. They're called "rats with wings," which is incredibly rude to both pigeons and rats. Would we be dooming our fellow humans to a life of being shooed off balconies and judged for their aggressive bread consumption?

And what of reversibility? If we change someone into a pigeon, can we change them back? Or are they destined to spend their days cooing mournfully at city buses, trying to remember their Netflix password?

There is also the ecological concern. Suddenly adding millions of ex-humans into the pigeon population could throw urban ecosystems into chaos. Central Park would become an avian mosh pit. Statues would have no clean surfaces left. And don't even get me started on the skyrocketing demand for tiny bird berets.

Now, I won’t stand here and pretend I have all the answers. I don’t. I’m not a scientist. I’m not a wizard. I’m not even that good at feeding pigeons—last time I tried, I got mugged by a goose.

But I am a dreamer. And I dream of a future where, maybe, just maybe, a person could look to the sky and think, “Hey, that might be my cousin Derek, and he’s really nailing this whole flight thing.”

In conclusion, while the ethical landscape of transmogrifying humans into pigeons is murky at best, I say: proceed with caution, plenty of birdseed, and always—always—get it in writing.

Thank you.

cue awkward flap offstage