Looking through the verdant swaying foliage from the
panoramic window in my bedroom, I almost convinced myself I didn’t have any animal
hybrids at all — as if it were just solitary me in the midst of wild ocean on a
tropical haven of solitude.
Peering from under the sheets of my
egg-shaped water bed, I realized that the previous night was one of the first good
sleeps I’d had since the whole electrified wolfverine escape. I felt good. It’s
interesting, when you forget what it feels like to just feel good,
to not feel put-upon and heavy with problems that you can’t directly solve. This
island, BloodSpew Cove — my island — is kind of a handful.
electrified wolfverine mishap was basically just a miscalculation on my part.
Who knew they would be strong enough to gnaw through their steel enclosure’s
bars? After devouring Ken Klatch, a really nice lackey, they absconded to the
wilds where they’re now vigorously procreating. Looking on the bright side
though, having giant, vicious, electrified quadrupeds isn’t the worst form of
security against would-be snoopers.
I can’t spin the Tasmanian Marlin Man imbroglio. The three maimed interns
aren’t going to dole out very good reviews after that one.
matters worse Gloria Languardo, my unflappable assistant, was worried by this
week’s gen-mod forum presentation in which I unveiled the SARS AIDS Cheetah.
exactly,” she said, “is the benefit of the fastest land-mammal imbued with both
SARS and AIDS?” Well, she stumped me with that one. I was just thinking, check out this badass cheetah, y’know? Needless
to say I tabled that project along with the invisible sentient Alzheimer’s cloud.
I’m not all
blunders thought. I mean, yeah, my Dad, Dr. Inferno, gave me this island. I
named it BloodSpew Cove. The whole idea of filling it with heinous genetic mutant
abominations was purely my initiative. I realize that the idea wasn’t anything
particularly new — yeah yeah Dr. Moreau got there first — but I still brought
it all to life.
problem — besides all these little mishaps — is that the third annual board
meeting was coming up and all the investors would be here in a week. That means
Professor Knife, Bill Hates, Señor Deathface, The Gay Phantom and the head of
the board, my father, Dr. Inferno.
This is the
problem with our capitalist shackles; it allows no room for blue sky innovation!
True progress — not to mention the entire structure of scientific inquiry
— requires you to chuck a couple concepts against the wall and see what sticks!
But nooooo, you have to be saleable, scalable, profitable and marketable from
day one. No grace period, no try it out period! No, hey maybe in retrospect
that radioactive crow-bear wasn’t the best idea. Just bam! Profit, profit,
Cove actually started off swimmingly; my fireproof mice were basically the
hottest seller in 2011. They helped as an early-warning for stuff like carbon
monoxide or actual flames. Only problem, of course, was that they were also
bullet-proof, ageless and humped like mad, which any idiot who read the fine
print would have known. Luckily, those lawsuits are still pending.
news, Horatio, my chickenrhino wrangler, sang the praises of my new herding
dog: the taser hound. Keeps the chickenrhino’s charge-pecking to a minimum,
which means food bills go down. Great stuff.
enough to run an island in the middle of the pacific. Try adding vicious,
crafty, ungodly critters to that mix. And then try to make it profitable. This
is no banana stand operation.
this island is a money suck. We used to ship everything out on my forty
thousand cubic foot nuclear submarine, the
Arc Too. But that’s been out of commission since 2010. I’m convinced that
the more money a vehicle costs, the faster it breaks. Currently, we get all our
supplies from Amazon.
out from the meeting, my father came for a preliminary inspection. His goatee,
as always, was waxed to a full point.
want to give me the run down?” he said. I hemmed and hawed that I was still in
early stages of the presentation and wouldn’t want to divulge an unfinished
haven’t started yet,” he said, taking off his signature square, bright red
sunglasses and rubbing his eyes. “Listen, Nate. This island is an opportunity.
I realize that the economy hasn’t been kind to it lately, but the board is
starting to get a little worried. You need to show them that next year we’ll be
in the red, and not the kind of red we’ve been seeing recently.”
some dirt under a lab table.
escapes,” said my Dad. “This island is a death trap. Three maimed interns, Ken
Klatch eaten two months ago, three lackeys who now have both SARS and AIDS. The
escaped electrified wolfverines roaming the forest making it so Amazon has to
deliver to my island for safety purposes? I mean Nate…”
when he noticed a tear trace my cheek. He put a hand on my shoulder.
Just take care of those electrified wolfverines. Everything else should be
helicopter hadn’t even taken off before the alarms started going again. Another
escape. Two decapitated lackeys later, we managed to goad the lobstergent back
into his sand hut.
forty eight hours in bed for me to break out of that bout of depression.
I mean, in
the beginning, I’d set out in hopes of conquering the planet with my heinous
affronts to God’s plan. Right now? I’d seriously just settle for amusement park
status. Y’know, ship in kids by the ferry load, tire the suckers out and
then hit their parents' wallets with a gift shop at the exit. Man, that would
be the life.
out from the meeting and things were actually looking up! We had to clean out
the Snale tank — a whale-sized aquatic snake — and it went off without a hitch: no deaths. Surprisingly, lackeys are pretty hard to come by these days.
They’ve got to be hardy, strapping and bereft of a single individual thought.
Also, it helps if they’re of various nationalities; you don’t want to get
slapped with the old “Arian Domination” label.
great island though. My Dad bought it — along with several other remote, ominously-shaped
islands (skull, bomb, middle finger, &c &c) — back in the nineties when
it looked like property value would never stop soaring. Then when he got nailed
by the market he sold all of them but his island and mine.
Two days to
the meeting and still no progress on the wolfverine situation, but I had a brilliant
thought. If I needed help, why not help myself?
idiot about cloning, I didn’t make some evil twin or anything. In fact, I added
some ant genes to his makeup so he’d not only be more diligent but would take
commands from me, his queen. Plus, I tattooed a big 2 on his face so I wouldn’t
have to worry about any of those silly gunfight double binds with both of us
yelling that we’re the real original at some indecisive lackey holding a quivering
say my clone was a huge help. I gave him one tour of the island, showed him around
the different boring jobs I had to do and boom, instant second in command. It’s
amazing I didn’t think of it earlier.
before the big meeting and everything actually came together! Surprising to
see. My clone pulled his weight in a major way. He even managed to herd all the
electrified wolfverines back into their pit. That ant gene really put some
diligent pep in his step.
I felt good. I was getting things done and that really boosted my
spirits. I beamed at the thought of the board getting to see my island then.
board meeting happened. In short, it did not go as originally planned.
About an hour before the meeting, I
was lounging on the picturesque vista by the praying manatee lagoon and my clone dropped by to give me an update. At
least that’s what I was expecting. Instead, this clone had a huge five on his
face and started to strangle me. So there I am about an hour before the
meeting, beating my clone to death with a pina-colada-filled coconut to the chittering
snorts of the praying manatees below. Quite a scene!
out I put Queen ant genes into my clone instead of just worker ant so that was a
faux pas on my part. Basically, my clone was clandestinely pumping out ancillary
clones and cleaning up to keep me distracted. By the time the Gay Phantom arrived
— he’s always the most punctual — in his invisible submarine, the place was
pretty much bedlam.
Clone 2 was
trying to destroy every other creature on the island to make room for his brood
of copies — I saw a clone numbered 59 suplex a security guard. I had
to text Miss Languardo to get on the intercom and let all staff know that they
needed to basically flee or be mercilessly destroyed.
We ended up
having the board meeting in Professor Knife’s Hover-Scythe.
our investment,” I said, not even bothering to open the PowerPoint
presentation I’d prepared, “will need a longer-term view.”
and the board eventually agreed to a small downsize. Total, eschaton-level melt-down of
an evil island was actually covered in our insurance package, so that was great
looking into office space around the Silicon Valley area. I figure we can have a
cool office with like a Ping-Pong table, video games and maybe something edgy
like a beer vending machine. That sort of stuff boosts morale. I want to make
sure my staff and abominations don’t feel like they’re getting the short end in this
deal. They’re the ones who really matter, after all.
Inventive dogs. Scrumptious tots. A great spot for a quick
Wow that is a breathtakingly bad pun (if that can even be
considered a pun). You’ll not pay much though.
Sitting inside consists of solely counter space around the
outside of the room. Probably accommodates 15 comfortably. Fits the style of
food perfectly though, plus the rooster décor is awesome.
Struttin’ Their Stuff
Order from the cashier. Get food from the cashier.
EAT OR SKIP:
If you’re in the mood for a killer dog, solid sandy or some hot
tots (hot in the “popular” sense, not spicy-hot), Blue Rooster will have you
crowing. There is now a special nook in hell for me thanks to all these