The annual hunt for Jordan’s Accipiter,
aka the Lesser Front Range Accipiter,
aka the Brown Throated Accipiter,
was an affair of great pomp and ceremony.
The good ol’ boys arrived in small groups
on their monopedes,
each mono plopping down on its preferred
piece of ground and shifting
its slimy stump about until it felt comfortable.
Billy Moses clambered down
from his monopede’s cockpit and said
Your mono’s looking kind of fat and happy
Been feeding it too many deep-fried dumplings?
Must’ve been tough,
climbing all the way up Devil’s Canyon!’
Slugman shot back ‘Don’t get him riled!
You get one started, you’ll set ’em all off!
Then we’ll be up a canyon
without a stump, and you’ll be the one
who has to call in the land Riders.
It’ll be on you, not me, Moses!’
Slugman’s monopede had, indeed,
started staring grimly about, like it was
thinking of settling in someone else’s spot,
just to provoke it.
The Chairman of the Hunt cleared his throat
and adjusted his regal purple sash
with its gold leaf and tellurium filigree.
‘Gentlemen and Gentlemen of the Hunt!
Gathered as we are for this the
583rd annual Chasing of the Accipiter,
Let the spirit of decorum and comity prevail!’
All present fervently nodded.
‘Yea! let decorum prevail!’
‘As is our ancient custom, let us start
with a moment of silence for those
who will no longer be with us,
notably Sir Roger Kingsforth VIIth,
who suffered an unexplained and fatal fall
inspecting his mines on the Mountain of Dreams.
They fell silent, and all could hear
an eerie harmony emanating from
somewhere out there on the range,
which had always been explained
as the chanting of the Accipiter
for their children taken
in the hunts of years past.
The Chairman resumed
‘We begin with the official estimate
of the Grand Commissioner of the Interior.
Using the latest techniques, including
fermion telemetry and infrared distribution analysis,
the Commissioner has determined that
there are in excess of 400,000 Accipiter
in this sector of the front range alone!
So sharpen your harpoons and
jack up your monopedes, men ..’
‘We haven’t seen one in years!’
someone shouted from the back.
‘I bet there’s plenty on the
Prime Minister’s table. Fat ones!’
The Chairman was now struggling
to maintain order, and about this time
the Blue Fairy started making her appearance,
here and there, as one or another hand
held an ethereal blue glow aloft,
yelled ‘To her Heavenly Blue Highness’, or
‘To her Luscious Blue Boom Boom’, and
tilted his head back.
At about this time something unprecedented
A pair of monopedes, on tethered to the other,
Sir Dag Tarquinius, fortune made in
a monopede full of Jezebels in tow,
stepped out smoking a huge Cuban.
Total uproar and chaos erupted.
Jezebels! Not even ladies of the realm!
Accipiter sense female menstrual discharge
and gain legendary powers of sight
Who would dare to violate the taboo!
Just as quickly, the tiny spark of a rumor
flicked off a lightning burn
through the ears of the gathered throng.
A suicide posse of terrorist clowns,
blinding the security forces with
gamma ray flares and
juggling quantum continuum disrupters
had leveled an entire block of skyscrapers
1/2 km south of the Great Hall of Justice
including the Interchange and
Central Security Battalions.
Without thinking, the Chairman
walked over to the nearest monopede,
activated its primary display panorama,
and tried to dial in Capitol City.
For a brief moment a view of streets in
complete chaos appeared on the panorama.
Then the view blanked out and
was replaced by a single image of a clown
with a brush fire of hair raging
above his psychopathic grimace
a single droplet of crimson blood
dripping from one of his pointed
7.62 mm teeth.
The monopede started choking horribly
suddenly shot 50 meters vertically,
careened wildly for about a second
before losing traction
and plummeting to the ground,
its neck broken and its stump
sticking up emitting a
fetid slimy ooze.