Before we go any further:
WHAT THE HELL DID THEY DO TO FOGHORN LEGHORN!
I can't believe they did that. That's insane, and confusing. What, a talking duck is fine, but not a talking rooster?
Also, I just watched "Looney Tunes: Back in Action" this past weekend. I thought it delightfully funny. And I'm amused to see 2 things:
Bugs and Daffy, as I wrote in my earlier chapter, are rivals yet friends. Bugs wouldn't let anything bad happen to his favorite target (for too long!), and Daffy sure as hell knows it!
Although I doubt they realized it, in effect they showed nearly the entire mindset behind the conception and production of LU in the lunchtime meeting of Kate and Bugs.
Now, the show has become a disappointment to me. Really. I had a hope that they were going belatedly attempt to give us a back-story when they showed the Loonatics' former lives. Alas, they've gone back to the formulaic action hero thing: Intergalatic circus causes chaos, futuristic game (looking suspiciously like Quidditch) gets disrupted, etc, etc, etc…Do u think they'll have a holiday and/or drug prevention themed episode? Or did that go away with the rise of Pokemon?
But I'm still going to try and press on to create a better world for our poor little icons….
Brain: "Pinky? What are you doing using my high-speed Internet connection without asking?"
Pinky: "Why, Th'same thing Oi do ev'ry noight, Brain!"
Brain: "And that is…?"
Pinky: "To try an' google th' woirld! Narf!"
Brain: " sigh . Citizens, please take a moment to appreciate the standard disclaimer feature normally inserted here."
Pinky: "NARF! Oi've gawt a hit, Brain!"
Brain: "…"
Generally implies a thought
The Future Is Wild!
By Nefertanya dragongurl Ahhotep
Chapter 1: Gestation, The Womb Swells With LifeIt is now 2771. Over 800 years have passed since Bugs Bunny and his ilk began paving the way to toon equality. But as far as they've come, they are still so very far behind.
To the credit of humanity, the word 'toon' and 'toontown' became politically incorrect, a racial slur. In it's place, bigoted humans whispered "Fuzzies" around the house and called them by their species in public. The best jobs still eluded anthro sapiens, but at least they could get a decent wage and health insurance (a/n: now if only I could get that!).
Earth is nearly unrecognizable from our viewpoint. Major cities like New York, Cairo, London, Paris, and Beijing expanded relentlessly, swallowing up and homogenizing smaller cities, towns, villages and hamlets until these Megatropolis' bumped into each other's borders. Technology made nearly everything on the globe accessible to anyone who had a Comm-port1 and a credit card.
By the year 2626, it was evident that there was no longer any real separationof countries anymore. The creation of a new global government became necessary, a government that looked like the U.N but acts like Congress. A new currency was developed, and the planet was renamed in honor of the new unity, a name that reflected the pinnacle that anthro and homo sapiens had reached: Acmetropolis.
And so everyone lived normal, average lives, interrupted by the occasional college counter-culture rebellion and occasional natural disaster. But it wasn't going to stay that way much longer…
Chapter 2: Painful Labors-Push, Push!"You'll never defeat the people of Acmetropolis, you slime-slobbering scum!"
A tall, muscular man, tattered and bruised by battle, stood daring and defiant against his foe, a 12 foot tall robotic insect-like being. In response to the puny human's battle cry, the creature lowered its head, opening toothy jaws that dripped a putrid looking substance. It hissed as it crept closer…closer…
"AND CUT!"
The contraption shuddered and squealed into a state of rest. Two fresh-faced interns ran over fussed over the jaws, adding more liquid slime to the containers and re-checking the pumps. A casually dressed man carrying a teleboard2 walked up to the other human, who scratched his stomach and belched.
"Great job, Rocky. Go on and take a break, man." As Rocky strolled off, the director turned back to the crew and bellowed, "Where's that stuntrabbit? Get him out here now!"
A four-foot tall gray rabbit dressed in the same tattered clothes as Rocky's and carrying a latex mask of a human face appeared. "Here I am, doc!"
"Good. Get yer mask on. Yer to do it exactly as it says in the script, got it?"
"Yea, doc, sure. But what say we mix it up a little? I got some great ideas!"
The director quirked an eyebrow as he bent ominously over the eager little lagomorph. "Ideas, Ace?"
Ace grinned as he mistook the tone for interest. "Yea, I've got sum crazy karate techniques we could use on dis guy! Y'know, a little, woo-wah!" Ace made a few motions with his hands, "Now, da way I sees it-"
"ACE!" He roared, making the rabbit flinch, "I've got a budget and a deadline. I've got a nervous studio watching my every move. I'm not in the mood for experimental outtakes. I'm the director, yer the non-speaking stuntman. I'm the boss, you're expendable. Do yer job, do it the way it's supposed to be done, or grab yer last check and CLEAR OUT!"
Hurt appeared in the rabbit's blue eyes. "Yea, I got it doc. No kung-fu."
"Good. All Right! We're losing daylight, people!"
The director walked back to his chair, leaving Ace alone. He contemplated telling the big bully where to stick it, but roles for anthros had declined again in the centuries since his ancestor became Hollywood's golden boy.
Oh yes, he was a direct descendant of the legendary Bugs Bunny. It was a secret passed along the line for decades. Why it was such a big secret had been lost long ago-Ace only knew trying to brag about it only resulted in getting a good boxing from his mother. He bet she didn't know, either.
It was Bugs' legacy that had inspired Ace into the film industry. He'd grown up surrounded by dull, unimaginative siblings watching and re-watching as many of his old shorts as he could get his little paws on. Ace practiced his stand-up with only slightly less devotion he gave to his martial arts lessons. He was bound and determined to outshine his ancestor and become the first anthro to become a serious action star. Bugs Bunny had made them laugh. Ace was going to make them gasp. But all he'd managed to do so far was hobble from week to week doing stunt work, barely earning enough to keep his heat on and belly full.
Was this really the life he was meant to live?
"A-a-and Action!"
Ace barely had time to blink before the robo-alien grabbed him in its jaws and proceeded to do a very good job of pummeling him. And when that was all over, the director roared w/fury-Ace wasn't wearing his mask! The shot was worthless! And worse, the (expensive) pump had been severely damaged due to Ace's flailing appendages, causing an abrupt end to the day's shoot! And it was only nine am!
"YER FIRED! GET OUTTA HERE BEFORE I THROW YA OUT!"
Dejected, bleeding, his dream of stardom seemingly lost, the twenty-year-old gray bunny rabbit hung his head and walked off to his locker.
--o0o--
Across town from where Ace's movie career had suddenly spiraled, in a recycled brick gymnasium on a suburban (as close as suburban as you can get in Acmetropolis, anyway) college campus, another dreamer was raring to set forth on a bright and shining future.
"Okay! Wel-come, ev-arybahdee ta tryouts!"
A well-formed woman with short blond hair crowed atop a cheap folding table, waving bright red pom-poms and wearing a rather tiny cheer outfit. She beamed down at the incoming class of hopefuls below her, her countenance belying a person who had enjoyed an easy, self-absorbed life due to the security of youthful beauty and popularity.
"All right, troops!" A clean-shaven, well-muscled blonde man cheered as the blonde got off the table and took a seat between him and a red-haired woman attired similarly as the other woman. All three seemed incapable of frowning. "Now, everybody's had time to create and hone their routines. I know that you all know there are only two spots available this semester, and there are six of you. But don't let that bother you! Just relax, and have fun, ok?"
"Okay! Who's first?" the blonde crowed, shaking her pom-poms above her head again. Next to her, the redhead consulted her Teleboard, looked up with a smile, and called out the first name. "Umm…Lexi…Bunny?"
Up from the floor rose a nervous-looking, small-waisted rabbit. She was about four foot tall, yellow-furred with a thick thatch of it falling in her green eyes. She made her way to the center of the blue exercise mat and adjusted her faded cheer outfit of the same color. She was fully aware that she was the only anthro present, and everyone was staring at her. Maybe the lipstick had been a bad idea…
"Umm, okay, Lexi. Just relax and start whenever you're ready." The young man politely told her. Lexi nodded, took a steadying breath, and motioned for the music to start. She faulted at the start, jumping to high up and too far out, almost landing on the judges. " Focus Lexi, Focus! " She berated herself as she pressed on, soon losing herself into the flips and postures she'd rehearsed anytime she had more than ten seconds to herself.
"Whoa, she's really good!" the redhead whispered excitedly. "She's a little small, but what energy!"
"Yeah, she's better than you are, Catherine!" the blond man said. Catherine, the blonde in the middle, glared daggers at the young man. Not likely! When the bunny's high-energy routine ended, she quickly rose from her seat and passed judgment before anyone could react.
"Thank you! We'll be in touch! NEXT!"
Lexi stared in disbelief for a few seconds as everyone looked around awkwardly. Rabbits are naturally athletic-none of the other girls could dream of twisting and leaping so gracefully. But Catherine was the head cheerleader, and one less girl gave them all one more shot, so in the end all Lexi could do was walk off dejectedly. As she walked out the double doors, she reached up and pulled out the green ribbon loosely tied around her ears.
"Some luck you were." She tied it back on with a heavy-hearted sigh and wondered if she'd ever get the chance to show the world how truly fabulous she could be.
--o0o--
Outside of a modern fourteen story, if-you-have-to-ask-you-can't-afford-it hotel was a pool. Not just any pool though. This pool was what the hotel was most renowned for in the area. It was documented in all the best travelogues as the most aesthetically pleasing family pool around the Los Frisco area. It was a quad level structure made of clear plexi-vinyl3, the top level was a working hot tub reserved for VIPs. A waterfall in each level assured that the hot tub was constantly replenished with fresh water, and a Dead-Zone amplifying system4 assured privacy for the distinguished guest. The next level down was slightly larger and reserved for guests of the hotel administration and the off-duty hotel staff (who lived in the hotel for a span of three months, on call for twenty-fours a day save law-required breaks). The third level was adults-only and featured a full 'swim-up' bar. The largest level was all-access, and sported a curly slide, dive board, and a family-friendly poolside café. Normally a very active, bustling place, only the café was hosting a few parents with small children. It was just after noon, and the little ones were busy smooshing ketchup designs onto the imported, hand painted Italian tile surface of the outdoor tables.
"And watching over all from atop his tall white tower of safety, sits the all-seeing, ever-ready Lifeguard!"
A three-and-a-half foot tall black duck dressed in a tank and shorts and sunglasses proudly narrated his tour of duty. Relaxing back, he put his wings behind his head and smiled. "Nothing gets past this little black duck, no siree!"
"Duck! Vat are yoo doo-ink!" A white furred, muscular arm snapped out and grabbed the fowl by the cowl of his tank. "Yoo are shirkink yore dooty again! Quit playing around and get back to work! That pool is not goink to stay clean by itself!"
The over-muscled canine tossed the pool scoop at the duck, knocking him on his backside with the effort. Getting to his webbed feet, Duck straightened his glasses.
"Fine muscles, have it your way!" Duck glumly thrust the bag into the water towards a white foreign substance dancing along the bottom. "Fine way for a hero-in-waiting to have to earn a living!" He scooped up item and angled it for a quick inspection. At that moment, a woman walked by carrying her toddler son.
"Mine!" The infant crowed, pointing to the newly rescued object. Clucking her tongue at her bare-bottomed son, she barely missed a step as she reached in wordlessly and snatched the object-a diaper cover made do protect during swimming and moved on.
Duck shuddered. He hated having to disinfect the pool! The chemical smell of the cleaners stayed in his pinfeathers for days! Not to mention the indignity of enduring the harassment of the guests who wanted to use the pool right this instant. Duck sighed as he stared out across the courtyard, leaning on the long pole for support. He thought of his hero, the incredible Duck Dodgers! Of the 24 ½ century!
" What would he do in a situation like that. " he laughed bitterly, a sharp barking sound. " He'd never be in a situation like this to begin with! "
Duck had wanted to be a hero from the day he first saw the green-clad, red-caped duck soar across his television screen. Heroes were always celebrated, idolized, and adored by young and old forever. A public that loved you forgot your little mistakes, and if they began taking you for granted, a simple little bit of 'save-the day' brought them running back to you. A hero like Duck Dodgers was never forgotten, never overlooked.
"Duck! Yoo are slackink again!"
And never had to answer to overbearing superiors. If only the military would overlook his flat feet!
--o0o--
A few thousand miles from the Grand Canyon the University of Four Corners proudly stands, a clinical white elephant in the center of the man-made oasis of the cityburb of Borasilica. This is the place to go if your desire, your IQ, and your pocketbook are all extraordinary.
Bankrolled by several of the largest software companies (and some say certain military branches), it is the think tank of the west. Representatives scour the world for the brightest of the bright, the crème de la crème of the incoming intellectual elite. The blessed few are given full scholarships, a nearly unlimited budget, access to the newest tools and information, tutelage by the greatest minds available in the fields of chemistry, microbiology, nanotechnology-whatever scientific field you choose. It's a little like having Einstein as your physics professor, Steven Hawkins as your tutor, and Thomas Edison as your shop teacher. Only better.
In return, all your inventions and theories are intellectual property of the bankrolling corporations5. But with such valuable resources to waste at their whim, most students were willing to pretend not to notice the fine print on their application papers.
On the far end of the campus were the manufacturing hangars. These semi-circular buildings were reserved for the construction of large objects, such as interstellar radio telescopes or the newest type of aircraft. It was well soundproofed inside and out, so that several students could work simultaneously without distractions. Inside one, a bald, heavy-set man in a long white coat jiggled impatiently as a similarly attired male coyote fussed with the inner workings of his latest invention and thesis project
"Might I remind you, Mr. Coyote, that I am a busy man, and have several other student projects to check on?"
"Yes, yes sir, I understand. Just a few more adjustments…" Tech E. Coyote's fingers never stopped their dance among the circuits and wires. He'd poured every breath into this, his creation, until it was as much of him as an extra organ. Everything had to be just right. Grades were nothing, his ego demanded perfection. To settle for what you just created was to miss the opportunity to excel. His mother had fed him this mantra along with her breast milk. You can always be smarter. You can always create something better. You can always find a new way.
Tech idly wondered for a moment what his mother would say to all her co-workers. For twenty-four years he'd been primed for this moment-one positive test result and he'd graduate from the most prestigious university. Despite some fantastic failures, he'd made enough silk purses from sow's ears to be promised a paid internship inside the AcmeMicrosoft Corporation. It was an honor he was eager to pursue at nearly any cost. Too quickly he came back to reality as the man's burly hand pulled him away from the panel he'd been working on.
"You spend too much time adjusting, son! It's like painting a master work of art-eventually you've got to put your brush down!"
With horror, Tech realized what was going to happen. Futilely, he waved his arms. "Professor, sir! Please be careful! I installed a self-destruct mechanism for extra credit!"
Too late. A thunderous boom, and a massive gray-white cloud of smoke and debris broke through the hangar wall. Tech was blown out too, and rolled down several steps before coming to a stop on the road. He groaned as he pushed his bruised form off the asphalt.
"MANIAC!" The professor staggered out from the ruined building, covered from head to toe in soot, his collar bobbing from the back of his neck like a deranged pigeon. "THIS IS THE LAST STRAW! YOU ARE HEREBY EXPELLED FROM THIS ESTEEMED UNIVERSITY! GET OUT! GET OUT!
Tech dropped his head back onto the ground. How could he face his mother now?
--o0o--
In the outskirts of the campus are the houses, shopping centers, restaurants and entertainments for the students and of course the workers that keep the university town up and running. Like any city, there are some districts that are better than others. But everywhere you go, no matter how seedy the neighborhood, you can always find a Qwick Warptm. These little franchises specialize in affordable fast food twenty-four hours a day. They're not the best nutritionally, but if it's not at your door in thirty minutes, it's absolutely free.
"Cookie' McGhee was a typical owner of such an establishment-sour-faced from indigestion, massive arms from working the slicers, bow-legged from lifting heavy boxes and sacks, and clad in a stained white apron. His gruff attitude and stinginess resulted in a steady string of adolescent delivery workers who invariably quit as soon as the next edition of the Jobfinder hit the streets.
So Cookie gave no more thought to the unusual appearance of his newest hired hand than the flies that walked over the pre-cooked turkey rounds that rested in the case between sandwiches. Flinging a grease-laden package into a paper sack, he thrust it at the nineteen year old lounging on the other side of the counter.
"You've got five minutes to make this delivery, or else I'm gonna take it outta your paycheck!"
"No problem-o, Cookie!" Rev Runner cheered. A roadrunner wasn't your typical city dweller. In the centuries since the famed 'Purple Bullet' lived, they had dramatically changed, physically. The rapidization of desert irrigation forced the runners into closer and closer contact with other anthro and homo sapiens. The change in perspective forced them into a severe evolutional upheaval-within the span of four hundred years, road runners not only developed an upright posture, defined hand, finger, and thumb formations, a more wrinkled brain and a shorter neck, but the ability to vocalize in the predominant language of English. Still, though, they preferred the solitude and simplicity of running through the deserts to civilization, and the typical runner home is essentially a cool, dry sandstone cave with Spartan furnishing.
Clothing was the current rage among the younger, more rebellious runners. Those loyal to the old ways preferred to live in what O'kulumbo6, the all-god, had given them. Rev was not among that crowd. No long out of the red plumage of a juvenile, he wore the short suit favored by his kind and those that made a living out of the Tour de France in the same blues and purples of his natural plumage. Attached to his feet were a pair of souped up rocket blades.
"You can count on me!" With that he tapped on his skates and flew out the door in a cloud of steam. As he sped thru the city to his destination, his mind pounced on his favorite scenario for times like this, when he had but moments to reach the finish line-that he was out on the field, hundreds of race fans cheering in admiration at his speed and grace, and there, at his tail feathers, was his rival, his ancestor, the Road Runner.
Road Runner's progeny suffered an odd fate. As he lived out his life in the shadows of the desert, his story became mixed with the legends of First Runner7 until they were almost inseparable. And thus, he became the epitome of speed and endurance. Despite the odd looks thrown their way by non-runners, every runner humbly claimed to be unable to outrun Road Runner, even when the facts were in front of them. The children of the 'Purple Bullet' were actually scorned, as if their presence in this world tainted his name.
And yet Rev's mother spoke of her great-great…grandfather with respect and love, and tried to teach her son and daughter the same. But Rev could only feel the sneers of the other males, hear the snickers of the females and the taunts of the coyote cubs who still chased runners down the lonely roads. So Rev left his desert life behind, playing delivery boy at several jobs at a time to pay the rent on a little fifth floor walk-up as close to the center of the city he could get.
He tore through the city streets, so lost in his vision he barely registered the chaos left in his wake. Finally, his destination appeared before him: a security guard on the steps of Borasilica's Main Research Library.
"Qwik Wrap delivery! Where if it's not in your hands in thirty minutes-"
"-It's totally free. It's 5:06, and you're one minute late."
Rev blinked, then smiled politely. "Well, your watch must be fast," Rev said, the irony of the statement going over his head, "because-"
The guard grabbed the sack from the bird's hand and turned back up the stairs, "Nope, you're late and it's free."
Rev sputtered where he stood, helpless against the human's retreating form. "But you don't understand! See, I won't get paid…"
He trailed off as he realized he was essentially talking to himself. Hanging his head, he sank like a deflated balloon onto the cold granite stairs. Cookie was true to his word; he docked any delivery boy who came back empty-handed. Being what he was seemed to bring out the worst patrons. It was as if they expected him to be unable to count simply because he was a roadrunner! And the worst part was that Rev still believed in the best of people. No matter how they cheated or stole from him, he still came back hoping there'd been even the tiniest of changes since the time before. A trait he had inherited from his mother…
"I'm never going back to the desert, mother. Not before I prove there's more to me than what they think. I'm no pushover, and I'll show it on my terms! You'll see!"
A young couple started and tittered at Rev's little display as they walked past. He blushed and quickly sat back down. He shrugged his thin shoulders-there was no real hurry to go back to Cookie and get reamed out then sent out with another warning. Resting his smooth beak on a feathered palm, he watched the world march by, secure in their importance and place in life.
--o0o--
In the center of the gambling district (that we'd know as the area between Reno and Las Vegas) stands a giant plexi-vinyl covered dome set atop a thirty-foot tower. Searchlights shone through the dome, just barely visible against the evening sky. Inside, crowds in various states of drunkenness roared in near hysteria as a man's voice bellowed over the PA system:
"LET'S GET READY TO RUUMBAAALLLL!"
Showers of sparks spewed from flashpots above a stage. A six-foot tall, muscular man in form-fitting blue sparkly spandex strode out and postured for the crowd's enjoyment. He wore a spandex half-mask and sported a tall purple-red Mohawk.
"Wrestling fans, Welcome back the three time heavy-weight champion: BLUEEEEE THUN-DERRR!"
Blue Thunder strolled down the carpeted lane, hi-fiving random fans. Reaching the ring, he bounced around and stretched as the sour-looking ref glanced at his watch. From the opposite side of the arena, another shower of sparks poured forth. This time, a squat figure appeared. A well-muscled Tasmanian Devil dressed in purple spandex and sporting a dual goatee spun and spat before waving to the crowd excitedly.
"And welcome, friends, a new face in the world of pro wrestling, already making waves: SLAAAM TASMANIA!"
Slam spun down the carpet to a mixed chorus of cheers and boos. After the prerequisite warnings from the referee, man and beast collided ferociously. After a few moments, Slam had the champ in a headlock.
"Nice show, m'boy." Blue stage-whispered to his shaggy opponent. "Make it look good before you go down!"
"#$$&!" Objected Slam.
"There's a deal, here, kid!" Blue spat thru clenched teeth. Even though the devil wasn't really trying, his grip was solid and the older man was having a bit of trouble catching a decent breath. "You're supposed to take the fall!"
"Slam. Want. Win!" he cried as he flipped the human onto his stomach. Slam clambered up the ropes and body slammed the champ good. The crowd rose to its feet and roared as the referee began the count.
"…8…9…10!"
The sour-faced man raised Slam's arm. "The winnah! Slam Tasmania!"
Chaos erupted as the loyal fans of the Blue Thunder demanded a rematch. People were jostled; fistfights began. Soon there were the beginnings of a mass riot. Slam celebrated in the center of the ring oblivious to anything but the fact that he'd won. He didn't care that, politically, his career was over. He'd find a way to use his bulk again-but this time he wouldn't stoop to being some bully for some underground overlord. He'd walked that route, and found it most distasteful. And no fun. And Slam liked fun. He liked winning.
And so, he continued his solitary celebration. Until he realized that a light brighter than any he'd ever seen seemed to be growing ever closer….
--o0o--
Tech: "…You made me a momma's boy?"
N.d.A: "Noo! Gimmie time! I'll explain!"
Tech: "I'm not going to hold my breath."
Ok, ok. So what do you, the reader think? What would u rather see me do, continue leaving footnotes in this fashion, or having the descriptive come right after the word?
So, in case u haven't noticed, we've gone thru a whole day here. Which means I messed with the time frame. But if u saw this particular episode, u'll see that I kept the jobs Warners gave them. I call this episode, 'The One That Gave Me Hope', because I really thought they were going to listen to reason and start filling in all the blank spots we were complaining about! After seeing Foghorn, I seriously begin to wonder if the dude shown at the end of that episode simply wants to get a better view of Venus!
As for Rev and Tech, I suppose writing after reading 'Watership Down' stirs the blood. If you like, maybe I'll type up one of the 'old stories'.
1. Comm-port: a specialized data transfer program that expedited the transactions of consumers and mega-corporations. Simply visit your favorite shop-site; select an object, and it will appear on the port as an extremely tangible virtualization. You can feel a fabric, check the fit, and combine it with that blazer you have at home to coordinate. Then you can simply select your shipping options and the amount is deducted from your card. The ultimate in shopping luxury and relaxation.
2. Teleboard: The digital answer to all your paper needs! Write or draw directly on the pad with the TouchStylus pen (sold separately), or import .pdf, .txt, .bmp, .jpg, and .word files via its handy Internet port. By AcmeMicrosoftttm
3. Plexi-vinyl: the newest in plastics, it has the best physical aspects of glass and plastic. It is moldable, bendable, and has the highest tensile strength to date. Its uses are primarily military, but businesses that can afford it, use it.
4. Dead-Zone: The last word in sound deadening technology. Dead-Zone creates a low-frequency hum that disrupts sound waves in a diameter as small as 3'. Sounds are disrupted from both within and without. By AcmeMicrosoftttm
5. Former alumnus Barry Punderschmidt, inventor of sound deadening technology, recently made headlines for challenging this long-standing policy, claiming he had designed the system before entering the university, and that a student's mind was his own. The Acmetropolis High Supreme Court, the highest court there is, decreed that he and all students willingly entered into contract with the university, and was bound by those terms. As for the system, he had never filed a patent on the design, but since he had built the prototype, he was entitled to a small percentage of the sales from the first version release only.
6. O'kulumbo: to the roadrunner, and the coyote, this is the creator of the universe and the mbokuta, the typical pantheon gods such as the god of storms, sun, etc.
7. First Runner: the first roadrunner, said to be created from the dust of First Road and the spittle of First Wind