Racing southbound by the stars, having got word of a pod with a really fat straggler at 10° 21' N and 66° 42' W, near Venezuela. In the event it’s yet another false alarm, here’s the info from the Wanted Poster I've been sticking up at the docks, plus some extra explaining for the greenhorns:
He’s about 70 feet long and weighs about 60 tons, which means he’d be pushing the max if they had Big & Tall stores for sperm whales (this could be cause he’s psychotic and eats stuff his kind aren’t supposed to—guys named Gus’s families for instance). His skin’s battleship gray, like a prune in texture. He’s got a big fat box-shape head 30 feet long, 15 feet high, and 10 across. Blowhole on the front, just like in the cartoon shows. Now, here’s the key thing—even more key than the extra boatload of blubber: Right smack between his eyes is a lighter-color-of-gray scar in the shape of a “B,” as in bastard. Sperm whales get scars like this from their favorite snack, giant squids, who aren’t too pleased about getting eaten. - Captain Gus
Right after this Gus' luxury yacht (which he found, mysteriously abandoned, far out at sea) was attacked by pirates, but they turned out to be rather stupid.
However, I found a link to a spy satellite that tracks evil, blubbery B-type whales suspected of having links to international terrorism. Horrors!
Nothing much seems to be happening at the moment. At nighttime the lights on shore look rather pretty, if you like that sort of romantic nonsense.
Which I don't. I'm not like that Edna person, hauling her brood in full cry after Captain Gus. I don't know why she bothers, it's clear he's much more interested in Spermatoceti.
There now. I seem to have caught up on the salient points, as the mailman said who tripped over the hedgehog. Now there is nothing to do but wait... and watch.
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