From Pynchon's Vineland:
The more she considered, the more thickly came the birds of creepiness to perch on her shoulders.
All by itself this fragment of the scarily apt would have put Vineland over the extremely irritable and capricious scratch-line of Worth Xtin's Time, but it is glutted with other reasons. It might actually annoy me with its fucking awesomeness. There's no pleasing me. It's a thing.