They sat in the chamber. Poultreus began his tale:
"I am not the original Poultreus. My father told me all he knew. He was a greater man than I. He foresaw a society where poultry could claim their right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of corn. This he instilled in me."
He paused.
"Some of the rumors were false. He had no hand in the Great Roast, and his research on chickens had been perverted by his superiors. I don't say this lightly; none were superior to him. He was undone by the premature emancipation of Death Chickens. His goal was to create a self-sustaining utopia for chickens, but they freed the birds in the midst of his trials. His grief was maddening. Only the companionship of one lone rooster kept him from giving in to self-annihilation. I see the look in your eyes. Yes. Capon Frank.
Frank was his childhood companion. He looked after him as he would a son, a genetically experimental son ensured a long life through regular facials and collagen implants. His last words to me were, "Look after Frank. Keep him safe. I am alive in his survival."
I studied at Rensselaer, and then at Cornell. My life's work has been to protect and care for Capon Frank. My Dad loved him dearly. It is my tribute.
And here I am, entertaining two poultry mercenaries on the quest to kill him. I see your basters. You have the spice, and you think you control the universe. I think there's one worse than you, no less lethal, but mentally incapable of ethics: Snake B. Bauer.
I ask too much. I'm asking you to stand against Snake, protect Frank and walk away. Leave him the half-believed legend that he is, to descend into myth and continue his peaceful life."
"Peaceful!" Grimironie blurted, "Half a dozen families say otherwise! They're homeless!"
"It wasn't intentional," Poultreus answered, "those homes were baited. Bauer's been busy."
"Prove it," she hissed.
Poultreus grabbed his remote and ran surveillance tape of Snake B. Bauer in a gated cul-de-sac. There was no question; he'd laden the neighborhood with chickenfeed.
She thought of Uncle Otto. There had to be justice!
Poultreus foresaw her reaction. "I remember an old colleague, Bartholomew, who complained that he missed all of the good drama. I took him to Frank, explained the story. Once he met Frank, he fell in love as surely as any nubile woman would love Orlando Bloom. He stuck with me, despite the stalkers and the feds. Soon I had a group of allies- Barty, Dolores Haze, Talps, Squicky Voyager, Melanie Hoo, Anthony- they fought with me, kept Frank's whereabouts a secret. One tragic day, I lost them all. They were lured into a time-share condo brunch with promises of mimosas, and Bauer was behind it. Not one of them made it out without putting money down on time-shares in Florida. The time and effort they had to put into cancelling their contracts was all consuming. I never saw them again after they received their legal bills. Life can be that cruel." He stopped, and gave them time to let it sink in.
* * * * *
They took off their blindfolds and set off on their ATV's. It was near dawn. She saw the silver RV, but too late. Snake B. Bauer had set a trap around his camp, and they had run straight into it. She was off of her game. The spike strip had thrown them from their vehicles, and they were trapped in a net.
"You came to me! I had no idea you could be so stupid. I overestimated you both." Snake gloated.
Grimironie was working on unwedging her hand from Three's clavicle. The net was constricting. One wrong move, and she'd be pinned by his pecs.
"Go on!" Grimironie shouted.
Snake was dense enough to let her buy time. "One real man versus a pretty boy and an angry girl: who wins? Me, that's who. You have no match for my testosterone and manly chest hair."
"Sweater" Three muttered. Their ensuing giggles and twitching set her hand free. She grabbed the keys from her pocket and remote-started Mongoose. Snake spun around. She cut the net with her swiss army knife, and they struck the ground.
Now she had Snake, mano a mano. He squealed like a spring chicken. She descended upon him instantly with a roll of duct tape. Grandpa Otto would have been proud.
They held him steady and man-scaped his chest hair. "Do we leave him?" Three asked after he added the finishing touches with the electric trimmer: "I I I."
"Yes." Grimironie said. They had no legal claim for arrest, at least, none that would ensure his permanent removal from Death Chicken hunting. She instinctively knew Snake would lose a day getting chest hair extensions at his stylist.
They rode off. Ole Plucky hadn't been avenged yet. It would have to be something more grand to honor his memory.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
XVII 3/5/08 Poultreus
Los del Rio's music and lyrics had put her in a trance, but her English Breakfast Tea brought her back to herself. What had she done? What would the Chief say? Nonetheless, she folded the Packer's jersey tenderly and placed it in her dufflebag. She felt more limber. A Capon Frank sighting couldn't come soon enough.
Gristle called at last. "It's unprecedented," he said. "The flora in the seed mix is common, but the synthesized pellets are a derivative of steroids and DNA-anti-actualization-morphifyers. Nothing like this has ever been recorded. It's the work of pure genius."
"But is the genius malevolent, or just not so bad?" Grimironie asked in her most stoic and inquisitive tone.
"Only its creator knows."
* * * *
She and Three spoke very little as they set off for the Wisconsin dells. She blushed at him a few times, but neither spoke about the night before, thank Purdue. Mid-day brought a new surprise: more baited fields. It was the same mix they had encountered before. The culprit couldn't be far off.
It was time for a stake-out. They drove several miles and circled back after sunset. She didn't realize that she had dozed off. A rustling woke her; it was so very close.
"So, you want to know the truth?" She turned groggily to face the speaker. He was a tall, African-American man in a leather overcoat.
"Yes, I do," she said. Grimironie rose. Three jumped to his feet.
"Those who seek the truth," said the mystery man,"seek it because it is the truth, and no other answer will suffice. Truth is beauty, and beauty truth, and if the sky is falling, well then, duck."
This mystery man was a brilliant sage, no doubt. She said, "Show me."
The man held out both hands. "In one hand: the blue pill. You will take it and forget all that I have said. In the other hand: the red pill. Take that, and you descend into the chicken coop."
He could be only one man. "Poultreus," she breathed.
"Yes. Your choice." He handed the pills to her. Each had a mark engraved on it, "m" and "m."
"These are freakin' M&M's!"
"Don't belittle the joys of M&M Mars!" he replied. She ate the red M&M. "I'll show you my work. Gather your things and follow me."
* * * *
Poultreus. He had been a myth, a boogeyman whose fantastic tales were told to children as a warning, and whispered in the back rooms of Death Chicken Academy. "Don't try to domesticate a Death Chicken or Poultreus will send them after you" was recited by countless parents whose children had taken an interest in livestock.
It was said that he once was a radical young food geneticist whose work set the grounds for chicken gianticism. They say he implanted thousands of eggs with a recessive gene which would become active once the Death Chickens acclimated to the wild. They say that he knew about PETA's plans for sabotage, and some say he planned The Great Roast himself. In wilder tales, he implanted himself with chicken genes, and had become a monstrosity.
He looked like a man, a normal, yet dashing and ageless man with good fashion sense. She smelled good too; his cologne was intruiging with a hint of citrus, yet not overpowering. Three's cologne was slightly musky, yet pleasant. It wasn't Grey Flannel; she couldn't quite place it. Crispy would know...
"This way." Poultreus commanded. Grimironie and Three exchanged looks. The chicken coop looked impossibly small for three adults.
"After you," Grimironie said. Poultreus crawled into the coop. Three entered next. Her back-up baster was ready. She followed and fell.
As she descended, she made contact with an incline. It was pitch black. She spiraled downwards- a twirly slide!
Once at the bottom, Poultreus led the way through a maze of retinal scanners, fingerprint scanners, elbow scanners, and a computerized Soduku test. By the last lay skeletal remains of many who had foiled the first security measures, but fell prey to the irresistible grid of numbers, and wasted away in mathematical intoxication. Sad.
Gristle called at last. "It's unprecedented," he said. "The flora in the seed mix is common, but the synthesized pellets are a derivative of steroids and DNA-anti-actualization-morphifyers. Nothing like this has ever been recorded. It's the work of pure genius."
"But is the genius malevolent, or just not so bad?" Grimironie asked in her most stoic and inquisitive tone.
"Only its creator knows."
* * * *
She and Three spoke very little as they set off for the Wisconsin dells. She blushed at him a few times, but neither spoke about the night before, thank Purdue. Mid-day brought a new surprise: more baited fields. It was the same mix they had encountered before. The culprit couldn't be far off.
It was time for a stake-out. They drove several miles and circled back after sunset. She didn't realize that she had dozed off. A rustling woke her; it was so very close.
"So, you want to know the truth?" She turned groggily to face the speaker. He was a tall, African-American man in a leather overcoat.
"Yes, I do," she said. Grimironie rose. Three jumped to his feet.
"Those who seek the truth," said the mystery man,"seek it because it is the truth, and no other answer will suffice. Truth is beauty, and beauty truth, and if the sky is falling, well then, duck."
This mystery man was a brilliant sage, no doubt. She said, "Show me."
The man held out both hands. "In one hand: the blue pill. You will take it and forget all that I have said. In the other hand: the red pill. Take that, and you descend into the chicken coop."
He could be only one man. "Poultreus," she breathed.
"Yes. Your choice." He handed the pills to her. Each had a mark engraved on it, "m" and "m."
"These are freakin' M&M's!"
"Don't belittle the joys of M&M Mars!" he replied. She ate the red M&M. "I'll show you my work. Gather your things and follow me."
* * * *
Poultreus. He had been a myth, a boogeyman whose fantastic tales were told to children as a warning, and whispered in the back rooms of Death Chicken Academy. "Don't try to domesticate a Death Chicken or Poultreus will send them after you" was recited by countless parents whose children had taken an interest in livestock.
It was said that he once was a radical young food geneticist whose work set the grounds for chicken gianticism. They say he implanted thousands of eggs with a recessive gene which would become active once the Death Chickens acclimated to the wild. They say that he knew about PETA's plans for sabotage, and some say he planned The Great Roast himself. In wilder tales, he implanted himself with chicken genes, and had become a monstrosity.
He looked like a man, a normal, yet dashing and ageless man with good fashion sense. She smelled good too; his cologne was intruiging with a hint of citrus, yet not overpowering. Three's cologne was slightly musky, yet pleasant. It wasn't Grey Flannel; she couldn't quite place it. Crispy would know...
"This way." Poultreus commanded. Grimironie and Three exchanged looks. The chicken coop looked impossibly small for three adults.
"After you," Grimironie said. Poultreus crawled into the coop. Three entered next. Her back-up baster was ready. She followed and fell.
As she descended, she made contact with an incline. It was pitch black. She spiraled downwards- a twirly slide!
Once at the bottom, Poultreus led the way through a maze of retinal scanners, fingerprint scanners, elbow scanners, and a computerized Soduku test. By the last lay skeletal remains of many who had foiled the first security measures, but fell prey to the irresistible grid of numbers, and wasted away in mathematical intoxication. Sad.
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