(Originally published in By Appointment to the Royal Gentlemen of the Empire, The Noble Huntsman’s Informative Quarter-Yearly News-Digest and Catalogue for the Procurement of Accoutrements for the Slaying of Prodigious Beasts (B.A.R.G.E.N.H.I.Q.Y.N.D.C.P.A.S.P.B.) Vol. 125, No. 2. Spring 1907.)
Ah, the ejaculation of bullet from gun-barrel. The penetration of the flesh. The agonizing moan of penetrated prey. ‘Tis enough to cause strange quiverings in my pantaloons.
But why settle for run-of-the-mill exotic beasts like the elephant, the ever-plentiful Dodo bird, or the pygmy bushman, when the real adventure lies in hunting mythic creatures whose very existence is dubious at best!
I know what you are all thinking. My doctor at the sanitarium thought the very same. But let me remind you I am a doctor of the new-fangled and prestigious field of Cryptozoology, the scientific study of “hidden animals” (like the Jackalope and the Loch Ness Monster). Cryptozoology is a most thoroughly modern and legitimate science, like Phrenology. Or Eugenics.
However only so much satisfaction can be derived from discovering and cataloging new species, like the Globster, and the Brazilian Headless Mule. Real enjoyment can only be elicited by violently cutting short their endangered lives and feasting upon their succulent innards.
And so, loyal readers, I impart my fountain-like wisdom on the hunting of my most favourite of mythic beasts:
Sasquatch
Native to the primeval forests of the Pacific Northwest, this towering man-beast is a most elusive prey. Like the Grizzly Bear, its only natural competitor, the Sasquatch is acutely attracted to honey. I therefore used Sir Marmaduke, my hunting companion, as bait, covering him from tip to toe in that most mellifluous of sugary substances.
This action only succeeded in attracting Grizzly Bears, lots and lots of Grizzly Bears, which proceeded to maul Sir Marmaduke mercilessly. I could have easily shot the shaggy assailants off my friend, but deemed it more prudent to save all ammunition for the Sasquatch.
By some fortuitous circumstance this ruckus attracted the attentions of a most decidedly territorial Sasquatch, which scared away the unruly grizzlies, only to have a go at my sugary friend. Erring on the side of caution, I let him have his fill before gunning him down. A full-stomached Sasquatch would pose far less danger to me than one with empty belly.
Upon supping on the flesh of the Sasquatch, I found that, while plentiful in meat (and the only known source of precious Sasquatch oil!), this beast has a taste far too reminiscent of human. Instead, dearest readers, I recommend the tender flesh of the Himalayan Yeti. It makes a scrumptious goulash and possesses of itself a much more agreeable flavour, like that of a yearling Polar Bear.
Überhorsen (such as Unicorn and Pegasus)
Following Sir Marmaduke’s miraculous recovery, we chose to mark the occasion with another hunting expedition. This time it was to Pieria, Greece, site of Mount Olympus, mythic home of the legendary Pegasus.
The swiftness and airborne nature of Pegasi make them nigh impossible to catch from the ground. One must employ the use of a dirigible and a large fishing net. Remember to fashion the net to the hull of the dirigible. This I learned the hard way. And for my sins Sir Marmaduke was thrown from the airship and shattered his coccyx.
Sir Marmaduke only brought one net. Rather than lament my companion’s selfish sabotaging of my vacation, I embarked on a new and much more perilous chase. Dragging an immobile Sir Marmaduke with me (where else am I going to find a coolie to carry all my heavy luggage?), we set out to hunt an even more elusive beast of yore, the fabled Unicorn. (Although truth be told, Pegasus is much tastier than Unicorn—Unicorn just tastes like horse, whilst Pegasus tastes like horse and duck.)
As anyone versed in the lore of old can attest, Unicorns, like Blaculas, are particularly attracted to the fair and pure of heart. When hunting Unicorn, I employ maidens as bait. Should maidens prove unavailable you may also fashion a decoy out of wood or papier maché and soak it in maiden urine. (Maiden Urine available in the ‘Catalogue’ section of this publication!). Experience proves that real maidens garner the most satisfactory results.
I procured my maiden, a shy nymph by the name of Nika, from an impoverished local goatherd who mistook my offer to “borrow” his daughter for a proposal to purchase her as a wife. Fortunately we were able to flee to the forests before the wedding ceremony, smuggling with us several cases of uzo. (The wine of choice when serving a delectable Unicorn ragout!)
The Unicorn appeared before us, attracted to Nika’s virginal innocence. It promptly plunged itself headlong in my direction, believing yours truly a threat to her purity. Bravely I flung Sir Marmaduke in front of me, who was impaled by its deadly horn. Before losing consciousness, Marmy bellowed “You filthy bugger,” a curse that could only have been directed at the horned horse.
With buckshot blast I felled the beautiful beast. With a rusty saw I took for my prize its horn, long thought to possess of it magical healing properties. I briefly considered employing it to alleviate Sir Marmaduke of his numerous broken bones and fatally punctured organs. Botheration, thought I! Instead I opted to grind it up and snort it like Cocaine.
This is where my recollection of events fails me.
My first sober memory is of waking up in a thoroughly soiled Turkish prison cell. Six months later, I was dressed in the full regalia of an Oriental Geisha. How I got there still remains a mystery. Upon my release I learned that my Greek bride was six months pregnant. And my dear English wife Clarissa, assuming my death, had become engaged to none other than Sir Marmaduke!
And I never ascertained what happened to the uzo.
When snorting Unicorn horn, never ever snort the entire horn!
Mermaids
Or as I like to call them, The Edible Prostitute.
Found predominantly in the seas of the Southern Equator, Mermaids are attracted to choral music, shiny objects, and promises of commitment.
Of all the humanoid cryptids, the mermaid is by far the most “impressionable”. It is most prudent when having your way with an harlot mermaid to make sure she is clean. I neglected to inform Sir Marmaduke of this. No gentleman should have to explain to his wife how his manhood became infested with barnacles. Not that a gentleman has to explain himself to his wife. Or any woman for that matter.
When preparing a mermaid fricassee, take note that only the fish half is edible. The human half tastes like human. It is of the utmost importance to dispose of the human halves discretely so as not to be charged with murder. After all, we can’t all have a scapegoat like Sir Marmaduke to take the fall when those ever-diligent chaps at Scotland Yard come a-knocking.
Many a critic has argued that by killing and eating my finds I am destroying the very proof of my discoveries. Odds boddikins, I say! I do freely admit that had I fully preserved the mermaid corpses poor old Marmy would not be facing the hangman’s noose. Yet such is but a small price to pay for the singular privilege of devouring creatures very soon to be extinct.
T’will teach him for stealing one of my wives!
