The harpoon felt good rushing out of my hand though, and true, and as it arched toward the bastard, it shone in the sun as if destiny was smiling on it—and as you all would agree, if there is any sort of providential scorekeeping, I was due for a miracle strike. My only hope was Bulbus wouldn't have a say.
Huzzah!! Harpoons away at last!
If there is such a thing as a Hail Mary harpoon toss competition, Gus is ready to compete, kitted out in rather natty plaid shorts. His form is quite good in spite of the balance problem presented by the unfortunate loss of his arm (which as we've all been reminded, was et by the whale, along with his wife and kid).
If Gus were ever to lay aside the harpoons and his hatred of all things Cetacean, he might have a decent career as a Paralympian in javelin (Master's Circuit, that is).
And now, may cooler heads prevail, and the next few harpoons be strongly lashed to the brig.
I must say, these exciting "snapshaws" really add oomph to the tail of the whale, Gus, and his crew.
1 comment:
Harrumph. I shall see about this - I think it's a thinly veiled version of Nelson's notorious demands for "Pix!"
I'm not terribly scrimshawogenic meself. Mr. B would disagree, of course.
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