I got to work at around 6:30 the other morning. It was just getting light, the sky filled with dim blue. There were a bunch of crows, maybe thirty or fifty or so, squabbling in the parking lot.

I thought they were fighting over a bit of garbage, but as I watched them I saw that they were attacking one of their members. I couldn’t see why they were doing so, he looked just like every other crow there, but six or eight members of the group took turns flying down and attacking him.

Perhaps he was hurt, I don’t know. He eventually flew away under the barrage. I know that crows exhibit very complex social behaviour, and so it may have been temporary exile. He might have violated some crow social code. Maybe they discovered he was part raven, or that he sympathized with owls. Who knows?

I was reminded of this on Friday night.

I have been following the slowly, slowly unfolding story of Casey Serin (in lackadaisical fashion) for some time now. On Friday night, Casey posted of imminent danger and begged for donations.

What followed is fascinating. It was like the crows who attacked their flock-mate. Casey danced like a performing seal for money, although he balked at providing too much financial detail (like revealing the amount of the cash-back payments at closing he received) or of posting pictures of his apparently very attractive wife in a bikini.

He did do other things for money, though, such as taking a picture of the inside of his refrigerator, posting a picture of himself holding up a demeaning sign, and agreeing to a 1 hour interview with one of the Casey-styled ‘haters’.

Dancing like a trained monkey for money, the attackers using his weakness against him.

This morning, there’s another post on Iamfacingforeclosure.com, in which Casey claims to have purchased more than $4000 worth of penny mining stocks. I don’t believe it.

There’s some goofing going on here, but whether it is Serin’s, in a sort of strange Crow-fu, using the energy of the haters against them, or whether it is society’s and Serin is really a sort of sacrificial lamb, I can’t tell. All I know at this point is that there’s got to be a real story in here somewhere.

Or maybe not. It is April Fool’s Day, after all.