Luther Jackson listened to the river. Babble fucking babble, like a pile driver in his brain. That's the way it had been for the last forty minutes. However, he knew that if he kept walking along the river he would eventually find his way back to the campsite.
He couldn't believe he had let those motherfucking crackers talk him into going camping. He looked up at the redwoods towering over them. They should be skyscrapers. Luther Jackson didn't belong in no trees. Luther Jackson was an urban warrior, not some hillbilly Grizzly motherfucking Adams.
Those were his last thoughts before he heard the sounds of flapping leathery wings and felt the pain of the talons' grip on his shoulders as he was suddenly lifted into the air.
As Luther regained consciousness, he slowly opened his eyes. A pair of ice-cold green eyes with cat pupils returned his stare.
He took stock of his current situation. He was buck-naked in what looked like a giant bird's nest high atop a redwood. He was spreadeagled, his wrists and ankles tied by heavy vines that appeared to be woven into the very fabric of the nest.
The creature watching him sported the wings of a gigantic, human-sized bat and the body of a woman (built like a brick house, mighty mighty). She came complete with ample breasts (and all the other accouterments that Uncle John needs). Her abdomen was covered in fine down, like a puppy's tummy. He peered over her shoulder, damn fine booty too. Her legs were strong, if little on the scaly side. The heartache of psoriasis he supposed. They ended in talons rather than feet.
"Toto, I don't think we're in motherfucking Kansas anymore," Luther muttered under his breath. Suddenly the truth dawned on him. "Oh I get it," he said. "You Ashton Kutcher, ain't you? I been punked. Well, goddamn."
Three more of the bird ladies landed on the nest, perching in the four cardinal directions. "We are what your Greek philosophers called harpies," the first bird lady told him.
"Greek phi-what?" Luther asked.
"We are the last of our kind," said bird lady number 1. "We must mate with a human to produce a male, or else we are gone from this Earth."
Luther took another gander at those talons. Those things would not leave scratches on his back the way LaTanya's nails do; they would remove several of his most favorite organs on the first swipe.
"What about the Endangered Species Act?" he asked. "We can contact the Fish and Wildlife Service. "They will protect you. Find you some males. It's not like that asshole Bush is still in the White House. Things have changed," Luther said as he frantically pulled on the vines binding his wrists and ankles. They were far too strong for him to break.
"How little you know, you pathetic human," the first harpy replied. For the first time he noticed the three rows of teeth in her mouth, razor sharp needles, every last one of them. She rose to her full height (definitely WNBA material) and spread her leathery wings just like that pterodactyl in
Jurassic Park II
(or was it
III
?). "We must hide from the humans. They are our enemy and will hunt us down. They know nothing of our existence. OK, maybe we gave couple of exclusives to the
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