When asked about the videogame based on the dangerous and popular 1930s aerial sport, Hubert “Boss Hugh” Odworthy, the last known Sky Jouster still alive, got a little cranky.
“The game is rubbish,” Boss Hugh barked. “It wasn’t nothing like that. First off they didn’t use no wings to fly. Have you seen an ostrich son? Them tiny li’l flappers wouldn’t get them up off a nap, nevermind the ground.” Boss Hugh angrily flicked his cigar nub out the open window, checked if the nurse was around, and lit another. He continued, smiling. “When you were goin’ tap tappity tap on them buttons kid? you weren’t flapping her wings, you were pulling her finger!” With that Boss Hugh rolled back with a cackling laugh, that soon turned to wet rumbly cough.
“Them birds are full of methane, son! Why do you think they go POP when you poke ‘em? That’s one thing they got right in that damn game, the way they pop.”
Boss Hugh stabbed outside with his cigar. “See that netting out there over the stable?” I had to put that up because Mabel poots in her sleep, was getting all banged up crashing out in the field. She’s just an old fart, same as me, still dreaming of the sky.”
Mabel poked her head in the window, took a scritch from Boss Hugh under her chin, stole a bit of sandwich, then wandered back to find a patch of sun in the yard.