by FREDERICA VON McTOAST-HYPHEN, Alternate Reality News Service People Writer
The winged creature that haunts Kensington Market is by no means an imposing figure. The winged creature stands barely five feet tall, with greyish green skin (which is sometimes confused for greenish grey skin, but I know better from years of human interest story writing) and almond-shaped eyes that shine luminescent red. Like a cat. A cat that hangs off the side of buildings. And, looks like a gargoyle.
The winged creature's wings are large, dominating the winged creature's back, but they are decorative rather than functional: if it tried to use them to fly, it would look like a handful of coins tossed randomly into the air before splattering to the ground. If you asked nicely, the winged creature would unfold its wings and flap them for you (if you asked super-nice, the winged creature might even allow you to take a photograph...after signing a three page contract outlining what you, your relatives, your descendants, your assigns and your chattel could do with said photograph). It was, people who saw it say, quite an impressive sight. The wings. Not the contract.
"Isn't he dreamy?" mooned Maria Madeiros, a teenage girl with purple hair who wore a Surrender Dorothy t-shirt.
"When I grow up, I want to be just like him!" ganymeded Mark Manifestos, a tall boy with long, greasy black hair wearing a Matrixy long black coat.
The winged creature can usually be found at the Scotiabank Theatre on a Saturday night, followed by a dozen young devotees. It is a big fan of chick flicks, which it regards as a form of fantasy fiction. The winged creature also enjoys adventure movies, as long as they don't happen in outer space or feature characters with capes. The winged creature doesn't like to think it's fussy about the movies it goes to see, but the winged creature clearly is.
When I first approached it to do an interview, the winged creature growled, "Stranger in a Strange Land you want, me, to convince, a classic, is?" I suspected it was making up its odd syntax as it spoke, but I let that pass.
When I explained that I wanted to profile it for a respectable news outlet - okay, a semi-respectable news outlet - well, a news outlet that had had most of its shots and that hadn't had fleas in three weeks (and had the papers to prove it!) - the winged creature's features softened - in the manner of rock being chipped away from a mountain - and it growled in a less menacing voice, "Surprised at ask of me, how many, that question, be, might you."
I met with the winged creature in Trinity Bellwoods Park, where it slept. The winged creature ate mice and rats and the occasional squirrel. The winged creature accidentally ate somebody's pet poodle, once, but when the faux pas was pointed out, the winged creature agreed to never do it again. As a further concession to the winged creature's new home, the winged creature bathed daily, although the winged creature missed the winged creature's slightly sulphurous smell for the few minutes that it was gone. The winged creature had even tried to wear a business suit once; the less said about that episode, the better.
When we met, there was one elderly protestor with a hand-lettered "Get thee behind me, Stan!" cardboard sign. "Party pooper," Madeiros commented, as she and half a dozen other winged creature followers turned their backs on the protestor, a human barrier between the woman and her prey.
"Young people, these days!" the protestor, Sashina Sushimi, sniffed as she dropped the sign and walked away. "Don't know evil when it's standing in line at a movie theatre right in front of their noses!"
I asked the winged creature if it was the staple of tabloid newspapers everywhere, Batboy. Amid the derisive laughter of its entourage, it answered, "Wish, I! Soul of poet, a, Batboy has! Hair, great, and!"
What should I call it, then? "I wanted to call him Theodore, but he wouldn't let me!" Moulin Mouage, a tiny blond girl in designer shoes and a mink stole, pouted.
"I always thought Tex suited him," Manifestos said. "But, uhh, I didn't think it was my place to say so."
"You call everybody Tex," Merry Munificencio, a short, overweight boy with out of control dark brown facial hair, pointed out, punching Manifestos playfully but manfully in the arm.
"Tex is a very versatile name," Manifestos defensively insisted.
The winged creature seemed like the cross-country highway of least resistance, so the winged creature it was.
The winged creature was guarded about its reason for coming to our universe. When pressed, it finally said, "Tentpole movies, there are no, come from, where I."
"Don't be so suspicious!" Madeiros chastised me. "He may have trouble with English syntax, but, inside, he's sweet and cuddly and stuff!"
I...I can't help it - it's how I was trained in journalism and corn shucking school.
At least once a month, an Executive Director, Creative for a major advertising firm would ask the winged creature if the winged creature would like to be featured in a campaign for potato chips, swimming pools or, most recently, rechargeable battery acid. The winged creature always declined; it was considering a career in politics. Nothing suspicious there.
How long was the winged creature planning on staying on Earth? "Until somebody the popularity of Adam Sandler movies explains, me, to" it told me.
A very long time, then.