In Monty Python's Flying Circus, there's an explaining for a parrot's deficiency of responsiveness: "It's not pining, it's passed on. This parrot is no much. It has ceased to be. It's terminated and departed to come across its creator. This is a advanced impersonator. It's a aching. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. If you hadn't nailed it to the perch, it would be ambitious up the daisies. It's crosspiece feathers the furnishings and attached the choir imperceptible. This is an ex-parrot."
There are three kinds of grouping in the world: Eagles, ducks and at peace parrots. Dead Parrots - the planetary is crammed of them. They are the nation who converse the sermon but who ne'er step the walk, empire who photocopy the speech of intense men, but have no duration of their own. They masquerade as leadership and saviors. They cognise all the words and all the answers and they have affected much, but their lives are unimportant meanderings of mediocrity and via media. They grasp office, grasping forth, but don't taking hold any sea. They are professors in universities, bureaucrats, mayors of cities and leaders of unions. Figureheads, mouthpieces, slaves. They dismay and avert creativity and creative thinking at all reimbursement. They are only parrots and they have no life, no spark, no spine and no state. There is a Nykusa saying that goes, "The gone if not isolated from the living, transport psychosis upon them."