The Hunt — Chapter VI: Girls Can’t Hunt

This is a serial story told over many chapters. To see the first chapter click here. To see the previous chapter click here.

Kirill inspected his fingers, which had turned bright red. Gently blowing warm air, he slowly rubbed his hands together. When he could freely move each of his fingers, he cracked his knuckles and quietly chuckled to himself.

After he had turned back around to face Fedir, Kirill squinted and momentarily covered his eyes. The sun was out, and its harsh glare glistened in the endless sea of white. Kirill patiently massaged his eyes with his palms before recommencing the deliberate march towards the forest.

Confused, Alena chased after them and shouted:

- I’m serious. I’m going with you.

Fedir shook his head and replied without a backward glance:

- Are you kidding? Why would we let you come along? You’re a girl.

Alena paused as she quickly shifted her eyes from Kirill to Fedir to the ground and then back again.

- What’s wrong with being a girl?

-Where do I start? Girls are weak, stupid, ugly, annoying, dumb… and they smell bad! We couldn’t even use you as bait for the tig–

Alena stopped Fedir before he could finish, clocking him square in the jaw with a clenched fist. Fedir toppled over onto his back. Startled, Alena stammered a muffled apology and hastily bowed to both boys in turn.

Kirill, meanwhile, had collapsed in the snow he was laughing so hard. Finally, he ambled back to Fedir, who was violently scraping at the frozen earth with his sword, and helped him up. Then Kirill calmly turned to Alena and taking her aside, quietly told her:

- Don’t worry about it. In spite of his golden locks and his delicate frame, he is a lot tougher than he appears. All the whining and moaning is just his way of showing his respect for you.

Nodding, Alena bowed to Kirill again and softly replied:

- Thank you!

- As for our little hunt, you are welcome to come along if you want. Just don’t expect a fun carefree adventure. My father, after all, was considered the fiercest and bravest of all the hunters in our village before the tiger killed him. It’s possible that we might not make it back home again.

To be continued…

- Carlos de la Gringa

The Hunt – Chapter V: Alena

This is a serial story told over many chapters. To see the first chapter click here. To see the previous chapter click here.

Alena silently stared at Kirill’s outstretched hand before lowering her gaze once again. Crouching down, Kirill examined her drawing

- What are you making?

Alena hesitated before finally responding, “a lotus.”

- A what?

- It’s a flower that halmeoni always talks about. She says that it brings good fortune. But it can only blossom in the garden of a kind soul.

- Who’s halmeoni?

- She’s the oemma of oemma of course!

Kirill scratched his head, as Fedir muffled a snicker. Alena grew more and more frustrated and finally burst out:

- All boys and girls have an oemma! Don’t you know anything!?

Fedir burst out laughing, and Alena turned bright red as she stared at the ground with even greater intensity. Bewildered, Kirill quietly watched her.

Alena was a small girl with short black hair that barely came down to her ears, giving her a somewhat boyish look. However, a long green skirt and pink blouse tied off with a big red bow cleared up any doubts.

Alena picked up her stick and returned to her drawing. Grinning, Fedir shook his head.

- She was talking about ‘mothers’, you dummy!

- What? That can’t be right… What about ‘halmoeni’?

- That must mean ‘babushka’. And you say that you’re smarter than me?

Kirill sighed and glanced upwards. Then he picked himself up and turned to Fedir.

- If I said it then it must be true. Come on, Cossack! We better hurry if we want to find the tiger before dark.

As they headed off, Alena called to them:

-Where are you two going? Aren’t you too young to go off looking for wild animals by yourselves?

Kirill turned around and stared at this shy little girl with her other-worldly drawings, her funny words, her weird mannerisms and her condescending questions.

- My father was murdered, and the savage beast that killed him is still out there. And yet a whole month has passed, and no one has done a thing about it. So I’m going into the forest to find this tiger myself. What kind of son would I be if I did otherwise?

Alena nodded and looking him straight in the eyes, replied:

- I want to come too.

To see the next chapter click here. 

- Carlos de  la Gringa

The Hunt – Chapter III: Fedir

This is a serial story told over many chapters. To see the first chapter click here. To see the previous chapter click here.

Kirill deftly snaked his way through the empty streets of his village like a hungry wolf following the wafting smells of an oblivious breakfast. It wouldn’t be long now. As he continued, the sun began its ascent across the purple smoke-filled sky, tinting the corners of buildings orange.

When he came to a small wooden house, Kirill stopped and shouted, “FEEE-DIIIIRRR!!” Not a sound. Even the birds were too cold to sing today. He shouted again, “Fedir, get up you lazy butt!”

Quiet shuffling of feet came from inside, and a disheveled blonde head peaked out between the flimsy shutters. “Kirill, is that you? What are you doing up this early?”

– I’m going into the forest to get the tiger. Do you want to come?

– ….

– Come on, it will be fun.

– My parents are out, babushka is sleeping, and you want me to help you hunt a tiger? I was going to watch cartoons today…

– Boy, Fedir, I didn’t know you were such a coward!

– A coward!? I come from a long line of fearsome warriors who kidnapped and ransomed Turkish sultans and Polish kings!

– You don’t even know what a sultan is.

– It’s a terrible green-eyed horned monster that eats fat little boys like you. My great-grandfather captured one with his bare hands!

– That’s great, Fedir, hurry up and get ready.

Fedir put on a red tunic, a pair of red baggy pants and a big white-fleece cap that kept falling over his eyes. He briefly knelt in front of an icon of St. Andrew before grabbing a short engraved sword which he hung at his side. Then he shimmied through a gap in the shutters and dropped to his feet next to Kirill. Grinning, he looked at Kirill’s spear.

– You’re lucky I’m so nice. You wouldn’t even kill a chipmunk with that.

Rolling his eyes, Kirill headed onward without responding. Fedir spit three times over his left shoulder and then ran to catch up with Kirill.

To see the next chapter click here. 

- Carlos de la Gringa

The Hunt – Chapter I: Kirill

Kirill pretended to be asleep as his mother kissed him on the cheek that morning and whispered that she would be back later. He remained as still as possible; after all, he couldn’t let her discover his plan! But the minute she closed the door to his room, Kirill sprung out of bed. His mom and the other adults of his village would be at the meeting all day long: this was his big chance.

He didn’t waste time. After throwing on a huge fur coat that he could barely see out of and packing his knapsack, Kirill hugged his stuffed bear, Luka, one last time and entered his mother’s room. Rummaging through her clothes, he finally found what he was looking for, a key. He pulled out an old dusty chest from under his mom’s bed and carefully opened it. His father’s hunting spear still lay inside.

Kirill solemnly took it and headed towards the kitchen. There was some elk meat left out from the previous night. He grabbed a handful and put it in his pocket. Then he climbed on top of the counters and crawled towards the window behind the sink. He groaned a little bit but still managed to pry it open enough to squeeze under and jump out the other side.

Picking himself up, Kirill shook off all the dirt and snow and started preparing a small fire. He took out the elk meat and split it in two, half of which he ate himself and half of which he threw into the recently kindled flames. As the smoke rose higher and higher, he thought to himself, “This is it!” Kirill looked up towards the sky, and the slightest grin appeared on his face. Here was the opportunity he had patiently waited for all these months. Here was his opportunity to finally capture and kill the tiger that had murdered his father.

To see the next chapter click here.

- Carlos de la Gringa

The Subtle Manly Art of Making a Sandwich

I want to apologize for taking so long to write this article but I’ve been preoccupied lately with saving the world. I’m kind of a big deal. The Navy SEALS say they’ve never seen someone so adept in the arts of Kung Fu, Jiu Jitsu, and Capy Bara. Anyways, I can’t go into detail but let’s just say a certain famous Pakistani dude (or was he Assyrian?) won’t be making anymore homemade videos. I should be getting the Congressional Medal of Honor any day now. Boo Rah!*

This week, instead of giving tips about getting the ladies, I thought I would talk about my other great passion: cooking. Now, I know what you’re thinking: “the Tiger” cooks? Can’t he just get a lay-day friend to do it for him? Yes, I can! But there are certain dishes that only a man has that certain je ne sais quoi to make. Top of the list is the sandwich.

Now some may tell you that making a sandwich is easy, but they are wrong, my friend, they are dead wrong. Sandwichry, as I like to call it, is a long intensive process that requires skill, practice and patience. It is the craft of real men. You can’t just slap any old piece of meat together with some processed cheese and call it a sandwich, you have to be conscientious of just how all those different juicy morsels of pure unadulterated goodness are going to melt in your mouth. So choose wisely. But the true mark of the man’s sandwich, a “manwich” if you will, is measured with a yard stick. If your sandwich is stacked so high with assorted meats, cheeses, sauces and vegetables that you can’t pick it up without something falling out, if it’s so massive that you can’t bite into all of it at once, that’s when you know you’ve made a proper sandwich.  Congratulations, compadre! Just remember, no knives or forks allowed!

- Mike “the Tiger” MacNamara

*Ed. TES does not know why Mr. MacNamara disappeared for so long (perhaps gambling debts got too high or an ex- tracked him down?) but we can promise our readers that he had nothing to do with the recent death of terrorist mastermind Osama bin Laden. Fortunately, that task was left to actual professionals.

How to be a “Tiger”: Mike’s Guide to Picking up Women

So, I’ve been asking myself lately, Mike, what pearls of wisdom should you impart upon the masses this week? Boy, people just don’t appreciate how hard it is to be a smart talented handsome twenty-something guy.  They’re just too many things I know about the world that you don’t.  Because let’s face it, being the “Tiger” means being awesome.  But after reading some of the ridiculous questions that the Master of the Extraordinary receives, I suddenly realized my calling: I should teach you guys how to pick up chicks.  How to prove to the ladies that you’re the champ. Cause that’s what it’s all about after all, showing them you’re the champ!

 You’ve got to be the boss.  You know what’s going on.  You’re the greatest thing that ever happened to them.  But just when they start to get attached to you, WHOOSH!  You disappear into thin air like you were never there, like a brief but wonderful dream, the best dream they ever had or ever will have in their whole life.

Anyways, today I wanted to focus on picking a name.  A sexy, mysterious magical name.  After all, you can’t just go up to a girl and say, hi, my name is Mike. No, no, no!  Do you want to spend the rest of your life looking at porn in your mother’s basement? So come on, think of something good.  “Tiger” for example is a great name.  It’s a powerful, dangerous, beautiful animal.  Hey, baby, would you like to go for a ride in the jungle with the “Tiger”?  See, much better!  She is already dreaming about you picking her up with your big strong arms and throwing her into bed.  You’re just too sexy for life.  You’re an animal.  You’re.. AMAZING!!!!

…..Well, that’s awkward.  You don’t happen to have a towel do you?

-Mike “the Tiger” MacNamara

The Mo[u]rning After

Saturday morning I wake up hung-over. Suddenly I realize: I need water. I run to the kitchen, but Charlie, the rat, is right in front of the door. Charlie has lived here since we arrived, 6 months ago. “I’m leaving, Simone, this place sucks!” He has a small little satchel in his paw, “I’m moving out.” “Charlie wait, we’ll clean up the place, we can adjust your rent, don’t go…” But before I can finish the sentence, Charlie lets out one last squeak before disappearing inside a giant cat, tail and all.

“The bitch from last night left her tiger here,” yells my roommate Dan, while he puts on his jacket and runs out, “See you later Simone, see you later Meecho!” The tiger waves good bye, “See you later, baby!” I definitely need some water.

My water bottle is sitting under the table next to the half-eaten tuna sandwich that’s been on the floor since last week. I notice where Charlie had nibbled at it and I start to get emotional. But the water bottle is empty. I try to pull myself together, because I have only one choice. I have to drink the water from the tap. But when I turn the water on, a milky liquid comes out. It looks a bit like mayonnaise. I can’t drink this shit. So I open the fridge. I notice a strange alien spore colony growing on the broccoli and cheddar soup from last Christmas. It starts to pulsate. I grab the first plastic bottle I see and I drink.

2 hours later…

When I wake up, I’m face down on the floor with a big puddle of drool all over the carpet. I must have fainted. And now, god knows why, I need to piss. After I sprint to the bathroom, I notice a crocodile resting in the bathtub right next to the toilet.  There are even large bite marks in the shower curtain. “Well Simone,” I tell myself, “I think it’s time for us to move out as well.”

- Simone la Cuercha