Anthropomorphic 

Ostrich Character

Portrait

Herbert Whiffpop 

Amidst the shadows and echoes of Anthroxville, where faded grandeur meets gritty survival, the anthropomorphic ostrich, Herbert Whiffpop's journey from privilege to penmanship began. In times of desperation, innovation often finds its most fertile ground, and it was from the remnants of his earlier life in what is known as the Embaristocracy, Herbert emerged anew, the grandmaster of a unique niche: bespoke hate mail. Steeped in an almost poetic irony, once the daily recipient of an avalanche of seething letters through which he'd have to ride a snowplow in order to reach his front door each morning, he now spent his days penning them for others. His trove of personal trials and tribulations shaped his craft, allowing him to weave insults through a variety of poetic mediums – from odes and limericks, to sonnets and elegies. Yet, standing tall amidst his repertoire of rancor, the crowning achievement of his spiteful symphony, was the hate-haiku, or rather, the hateku.

Now, as Herbet will tell you, crafting the ideal hateku —an art form of vitriol—is far from the idle scribblings of a distracted mind. It demands a unique touch. One must take a torrent of rage, boiling and raw, and tame it into the quiet intensity of a single exhale. It's about striking that balance, where the words don't tiptoe or bellow, but command attention. Keeping within the disciplined confines of a 5-7-5 syllabic arrangement, this tight-knit trio of lines, brief yet biting, must serve as a potent elixir of disdain, unambiguous in its intent. To succeed, it couldn't merely sound like pedestrian musings or the mundane rhythms of a shopping list, but rather, it should resonate with the intensity and precision of a well-tuned instrument, each note striking the chords of aversion with unmatched clarity.

Among his countless clients was an older gentleman whose trust had been betrayed by his own flesh and blood, Gregory Fromage. The sordid tale involved vanishing savings and phantom bridges, the kind that only existed in the dreams of conmen. Without much ado, Herbert took quill to parchment and birthed:

Cockflap hark now hear

Hunt you down I will until

Final breath cockflap

Then came the likes of Victor Wallop, a part-time head-bosher, full-time loan-shark, by way of the disreputable Wallop Solutions. When Louis Battenberg proved to be elusive with his repayments, the incensed Victor sought Herbert’s expertise. Delving into the depths of Victor’s fury, the anthro ostrich scribbled:

Very much you owe

Even so it grow and grow

Not my patience though

Gloria Widdershins, a fiery frau in her own right, was another name making its way into Herbert’s ever-expanding client roster. A culinary mishap of spice-soldering proportions at Edison Upskirt's Upskirt Nosher eatery had propelled her toward Herbert's door. The result?

Oh ring of fire

Burning through the night I curse

Do to you but worse

But the anthro ostrich's poetic pursuits weren't confined to misdeeds and culinary blunders. Grissel Putz, laden with sisterly scorn, sought Herbert’s prowess to articulate her feelings towards her twin, Fruma:

Once two embryo

I come first then they bestow

Sister future hoe

Drenched in the hues of malice and resentment, these verses might appear petty to the untrained eye. But in Herbert's world, they were potent weapons—short, sharp, and with a sting. "Hateku's gonna hate," as he says. In the quieter moments, ensconced in his office filled with the fragrance of ink and aged parchment, Herbert would sometimes reflect on the efficacy of his creations. An unread letter, after all, was like an unexploded bomb, its power unrealized. One afternoon, as Herbert was making good progress with a commission from Kerubo Soleil to dispatch a hateku to both Axel Kettlebell and Hamilton Lickspittle, in response to an atempted...