The Infidelity Of Avian Hybrids
This brave new world: this
We see images of such distant days… and yes, we all have a good laugh at their antiquated lifestyles: tiny human full-bloods making love on soft furnishings with two-dimensional music playing in the background… but back then, it was so tidy when same-kind relationships ended. Have we really advanced with all our biotechnology and species manipulation?
Even in today’s broadened times, Pindi and I were an odd couple: a three metre tall, full-blood, human male and a penguin/parrot hybrid of just over one metre in height. I was aware of our friends’ giggles when we showed them our wedding holograms, although I was so besotted with Pindi, that I ignored the sniggers: considered them to be just rude, adolescent guffaws.
“Size doesn’t matter to us,” I explained. “It’s what’s in the heart that counts.”
However, circumstances proved that the difficulties with Pindi and I ran deeper than just two metres of height: the cultural gulf proved too wide to span. The main problem was due to the pre-eminence of her parrot genes, which meant she was inherently promiscuous: lifted her feathers to every male that looked in her direction. I realise now that it was unlikely she’d ever have been faithful to me.
I reached crisis point when I caught her cavorting with a full-blood orca: a big guy with a hip style and nasal tone. I saw her chuckling when he rushed up to me, kicked salt-spray in my face and chanted…
“Bye, bye, bye:
cry, cry, cry.
I’m in a whirl:
got your girl.”
I just looked at him…ignored the childish, macho display... laughed inwardly at the pathetic attempt at poetic verse. He knew that I knew that previous generations of his kind had eaten previous generations of Pindi’s kind… I don’t think she would have believed me if I’d told her though. All she saw was the size of his dorsal fin… and those millions of years of evolution-without-biotechnology took over and the silly woman let her hormones run amok.
I just couldn’t believe how soon after our wedding, this gross clown had turned her head and fluttered her plumage; she even thinks his poetry is good. There’s no way that I could have stood up to him: his enormous pecs suggested he worked out on a regular basis.
It’s the end of the relationship: I will not tolerate infidelity. I have too much respect for myself to stay in such a partnership. I won’t consider a 3-way marriage tie either: just can’t accept strange concepts like that.
My mother had tried to advise me… “In matters of the heart, you should always choose a partner of the same species.”
“Avian hybrids are especially prone to loose, lascivious ways,” my father had warned.
“Find yourself a petite, full-blood human girl… two-legged, 30-stoners are the sexiest,” my best friend had said with a nudge and a leer.
I know I’m a fool to myself, but I just don’t fancy females of my own species. Next time, however, I’ll steer clear of avian hybrids… maybe I’ll find a blonde, full-blood emu lady: one who’ll be faithful and happy with a full-blood, human male who has only a very modest dorsal fin.
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