Once there was a murder of crows. They were pretty happy about that, in spite of the ominousness of their collective noun, or term of venery, if you will. People often wondered why they liked to hang out all together. I mean, think of all the poop! (You didn’t have to imagine it, because it was there all over the ground.) One time there was a murder, but the crows didn’t really mind.
Moral: Sometimes the world just keeps on rolling by.