Alas, an agreed upon (being not seen by eye or even through the indication of displaced water – yet the most obvious explanation is often the only one possible after all the alternatives and their own opposites out of phase have been discarded, the 3 blind men find the elephant in the end after all as it tramples them flat – just wait and watch) sea serpent has eaten many of those jaunty wayfarers through the air, seagulls (they are not cousins despite the same surname), leaving only the bones in eerie piles all along the shoreline.
How to stop such carnage? Sgt. Jo Jo Pinguino, slim and trim from a new exercise regime and caloric restriction, but teetering – and of course the new exercise instructor just had to arrive dressed up as a cookie – aims to get to the bottom of the case. After a quick snack. A powerful kick across the beak later, he finds himself face to face with the Great Red Gup himself, Kochise Kachoo, huffing and puffing like a little engine, no smiler lugging boxcars he, however. A crime boss of the old school.
An uncomfortable silence likely follows as they look each other over, perhaps in the background, the staccato sound of interpretive dance routines by local landed gentry . “So it’s you that’s been taking the seagulls,” Pinguino might say at last but it isn’t, and a slap across the face said so no. “You fool, I thought it was you!” An already red faced Kachoo becomes almost black with how red. Well who is it, because monsters don’t exist anymore except in the form of man no matter what the conventional wisdom here-be-monsters may be – can there be an adversary in common who has returned from exile for revenge? And all the while as they glare crossways and ponder, trussed hero and villain (with a small v, the Villain as yet to be determined by further investigation) can’t shake the feeling that all their actions are by this point so half-assed that only by virtue of the convention of rounding fractions to a whole number are they even actions at all anymore.
It’s time for class again but Pinguino is otherwise obligated (by being tied to a chair) and he feels a creeping relief, luxurious as a two forks, one for salad. Even as he exhales it becomes an aha! Sure enough it must be the very same exercise fad that but for an ill dressed instructor and a conveniently positioned by the highway Grandpa Joel’s Confectionary might have also finished off our avian inspector – Kachoo shaking his head at the shame of it – that has taken the lives our grubby little flying friends. Faced with a task to do they, like the good little laborers over the water they were, saw it through to the finish. And an exercise kick of this magnitude can never truly end until you cease entirely to exist, spat back up with all the other perfumed ambergris cosmic Sperm Whale International Federation of High Achievers to fertilize yet another pale, blue planet!
So you see it was a serpent after all, despite all those objections from realists and snake apologists and other sentimental riff raff that popped up the minute somebody suggested it. A slim serpent.
