Manimals: What is Mother Nature’s Manliest Creature? #12: The Basilisk

Well, if we're being pernickety, Mother Nature wasn't involved in the creation of these mad, fictitious bastards. Still, as our Manimals series has bastardized the term ‘manly' to now mean renegade badasses from the depths of the devil's dick, this mythological mofo has more dudely credentials in one of its snakey snake-pubes than most of us could ever muster.

The Sphinx? Nuts to it. There's a Burger King opposite the much-vaunted statue in Giza now, which presumably tells us all we need to know about who's the greatest ancient mythical beast. And it isn't the one with convenient local access to gut-eviscerating patties-o-death made from mashed horse bollocks and/or fries that are patently inferior to those from McDonalds, whatever the bastards may tell you to the contrary.

To business, then, ‘basilisk' is an ancient Greek term, which loosely translates into well crap on my kitchen linoleum, that's one huge bitch of a snake right there. (Very loosely. Loose enough to damn well drop right off, but that's largely the gist. Presumably.) They are, purportedly, immense serpents, with extraordinary abilities. All legends seem to attest to its capacity to kill with a mere glance, as though simply being fifty feet of massive bastard snake wasn't sufficient to send terror-urine cascading down our pantlegs as it was.

Which is, we'll concede, quite an impressive feat of badassery. The pertinent question, nonetheless, is how in the name of our great aunt Alice's asshole does that work? Perhaps this thing possesses eye-lasers, like that crazy dude with the shit glasses and disturbing bollock-bulge spandex underpants from the X-men? We'd venture that it would have to be a voluntary thing engaged at will, or all manner of fatal, hilariously slapstick accidents could ensue in Mr. B's daily life (to wit: "Honey, I'm ho...Oh, pissflaps!I really should stop, y'know, looking at stuff. That's the third wife this week.").

And who wants that? No one, that's who.

Regardless, in tandem with their purported preposterously toxic breath, this isn't the kind of guy you'd want to meet somewhere down a dark alley that hobos like to piss in at 4am. Unless we're talking the kind of Basilisk popularized by irritating magic-douche with a limp scrote, Harry Potter. That guy was dispatched by pecks to the eyeball from a fatass magical chicken (and, we'll concede, a sword to the brain, brandished by a little wiener who paused in his ogling of sexier-by-the-year Hermione to kick some ass).

Also, lest we forget, the crowing of a rooster is indubitably the most shit-tacular weakness a huge marauding monster has ever had. Remember that time King Kong fell from the Empire State building, making a huge, blood-bleeding mess on the sidewalk, after someone in a helicopter dropped their flamboyantly homosexual kitten, Horatio, on his head to exploit his allergy to cats? No, no you don't, because he DIDN'T suck ass.

Those shortcomings aside, though, these mothers are pretty damn awesome. Snake? Whacked out reptile? Whichever account of these oddities you believe, huzzah for the basilisk! Just don't behold this clip from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, because it really doesn't do much justice to these behemoths: