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The Tale of Pelicus
Sep. 22nd, 2008 02:13 pmMany moons ago the Sci Fi Channel announced it was looking for ordinary citizens to submit ideas for their often woeful Saturday night features. The unfortunately unforgettable title at the time, Mansquito, which featured-you guessed it-a man/mosquito hybrid, made me ponder what god awful film idea I could submit.
The following Saturday afternoon on our routine nature stroll at Adams County Fairgrounds an American White Pelican skimmed the lake, then sailed above. I blurted out "Pelicus!" (pronounced like Spartacus), and a hero/film franchise was hatched.
Pelicus, legendary hero of the Pelicanesian Wars. Think the movie 300 with talking birds. Pelicus with his Centurion helmet, scrutinizing the hideous Heron Horde. Outnumbered yet undefeated. In the end, noble Pelicus was set off to sea in a burial fit for the Gods.
Fast forward to 3010... Archaeologists discover the mummified remains of Pelicus on the shore, and certain government officials implore unscrupulous scientists to extract and cultivate his DNA, adhering it through nanotechnology to a sophisticated robotic exoskeleton-thus producing the super enforcer, codename: Pelicop.
Last week, the boys and I went to a fabulous new Halloween store. Props, make-up, costumes, and goodies galore in a place the size of a warehouse. Scanning the shelves along the wall behind the checkout counter, my eyes rested upon a crudely feathered specimen; no doubt a vulture prop. I had it brought down to me for further investigation. Some of the feathers were loose, and the wing sockets loosely held the wings to the body. Rather than the $28 price tag, the proprietor sold the item to me for $5.
After gazing at it later atop my table at home, I noticed that the pink head, benignly-curved black beak, and small eyes were undeniably flamingo. Around its neck was a boa of fluffy white feathers. Below the necklace a coat of tawny feathers of varying sizes, as with the wings. Rounding off the vulture illusion: knobby black plastic talons. Which, in all, heated my brainpan:
In an uncertain future where the sky is too polluted to fly in, bird-kind has reverted to the archaic practice of bipedal mobility. For some this has been a slow and harsh adjustment. For others, such as the flamingos, it came with ease.
Ernest was raised in the Flamenco Flamingo Collective, a bright and uncomfortably cheerful family flock not far from the wharf district. Ernest never felt comfortable with his colorful plumage. He loathed the other flamingos and how they paraded about without a care in the world. Ernest envied the voracious vultures in his books and in vintage films. Vultures: feared, reviled, dangerous, nasty, and-sweet relief!-various shades of not-pink. Muddy dull browns, shades of ochre, Death's robe black, and ghastly off-white!
Ernest's obsession overwhelmed him, and in his late teens he made his first move to bring his desire to fruition. He strangled a neighborhood sparrow and skinned it, wearing its minute frame as a bib of brown plumage. Though offering scant coverage, it fueled Ernest's ill want to indeed be a vulture by donning his suit of murdered brown and black birds! He killed and killed again, becoming the nation's most prolific serial killer. He penned taunting letters to the papers, dubbing himself Vulture Shock, and became Pelicop's arch nemesis.
The following Saturday afternoon on our routine nature stroll at Adams County Fairgrounds an American White Pelican skimmed the lake, then sailed above. I blurted out "Pelicus!" (pronounced like Spartacus), and a hero/film franchise was hatched.
Pelicus, legendary hero of the Pelicanesian Wars. Think the movie 300 with talking birds. Pelicus with his Centurion helmet, scrutinizing the hideous Heron Horde. Outnumbered yet undefeated. In the end, noble Pelicus was set off to sea in a burial fit for the Gods.
Fast forward to 3010... Archaeologists discover the mummified remains of Pelicus on the shore, and certain government officials implore unscrupulous scientists to extract and cultivate his DNA, adhering it through nanotechnology to a sophisticated robotic exoskeleton-thus producing the super enforcer, codename: Pelicop.
Last week, the boys and I went to a fabulous new Halloween store. Props, make-up, costumes, and goodies galore in a place the size of a warehouse. Scanning the shelves along the wall behind the checkout counter, my eyes rested upon a crudely feathered specimen; no doubt a vulture prop. I had it brought down to me for further investigation. Some of the feathers were loose, and the wing sockets loosely held the wings to the body. Rather than the $28 price tag, the proprietor sold the item to me for $5.
After gazing at it later atop my table at home, I noticed that the pink head, benignly-curved black beak, and small eyes were undeniably flamingo. Around its neck was a boa of fluffy white feathers. Below the necklace a coat of tawny feathers of varying sizes, as with the wings. Rounding off the vulture illusion: knobby black plastic talons. Which, in all, heated my brainpan:
In an uncertain future where the sky is too polluted to fly in, bird-kind has reverted to the archaic practice of bipedal mobility. For some this has been a slow and harsh adjustment. For others, such as the flamingos, it came with ease.
Ernest was raised in the Flamenco Flamingo Collective, a bright and uncomfortably cheerful family flock not far from the wharf district. Ernest never felt comfortable with his colorful plumage. He loathed the other flamingos and how they paraded about without a care in the world. Ernest envied the voracious vultures in his books and in vintage films. Vultures: feared, reviled, dangerous, nasty, and-sweet relief!-various shades of not-pink. Muddy dull browns, shades of ochre, Death's robe black, and ghastly off-white!
Ernest's obsession overwhelmed him, and in his late teens he made his first move to bring his desire to fruition. He strangled a neighborhood sparrow and skinned it, wearing its minute frame as a bib of brown plumage. Though offering scant coverage, it fueled Ernest's ill want to indeed be a vulture by donning his suit of murdered brown and black birds! He killed and killed again, becoming the nation's most prolific serial killer. He penned taunting letters to the papers, dubbing himself Vulture Shock, and became Pelicop's arch nemesis.
