The Mountain Comes To Moses

It was like a building was about to fall onto us. The crew collectively gasped. Including Bob the rat, who peeked out from Duq’s sack of pain-inflicting kitchen implements, where he’d been stowed away after being bypassed in the crew selection.

All of a sudden, Dickhead swerved, bypassing us. Could the sixty-some ton whale have been spooked by a miniscule rodent?

Nope. The bastard had bigger, wickeder plans. “He means to wreck the Georgette, leaving us with just this,” Flarq said, tapping the flimsy gunwale of the whaleboat, “so we have no refuge and he can take his sweet time killing us.”

Indeed, leaving us in his wake, Dickhead directed his monstrous snoot at the starboard hull of the Georgette. Moses stood there looking over the rail, his mouth hung open like a mailbox.

“Think he notices the whale?” Nelson asked.

I very much doubt it, but the mountain of water and whale-flesh coming to Moses will likely overwhelm the Georgette unless Moses is capable of thinking of something fast.

My dears, what with the 'Merrikan holidays and all, I have been remiss. Things go on much as they always have here at the Shoppe. My dear snuggs insists on rescuing every desperate stray and puir mite that she sees; only the other morning she brought in a rather adventurous-looking, elegantly dishevelled New Zealander and asked me, face uplifted and hopeful, "might I keep 'im?"

However, the wedding band on his hand and the cordial but firm letter from his firm's lawyers enabled me to convince her that perhaps we should let him get on with his travels and not adopt him. He parted from us quite amicably.

There was a potentially profitable outcome to the negotiations; I have secured a lodging contract from the New Zealander's firm for the next few weeks to shelter travelers who will be in transit, or more likely a form of travel limbo. The first party of New Yorkers have been joined by a second party, females this time, who will spend their time touring the sights.

They have engaged a car and driver for the duration of their stay, so I bespoke an old friend whose cousin, Monty, is quite reliable as a guide and travel companion. They'll have Monty for half-a-day 3 days a week, which seems reasonable, as the full Monty is quite expensive, although promising much more in the way of rugged scenery. They seem quite chummy with the gentlemen New Yorkers, in that friendly-rivalry sort of badinage that manifests in good natured joshes about incomprehensible things like rounders teams and exotic foods. Speaking of which, I shall have to order a few more things from the deli, as one gentlemen has specific dietary requirements. It is no problem to find such items, as Bristol is becoming quite cosmopolitan in the matters of cuisine. I am only thankful that I did not have to learn how to make bagels (or is it "beagels?") from scratch.

I have been warned to watch out for a not-so-young man with blue hair. I can see I shall have to swot up my potential guests so that cordial people are grouped together, and not-so-cordial people are farmed out to lesser establishments in the Bristol public house pecking order.

On second thought in re mountain, perhaps it was Mohammad? Never mind, then.

Gus Has Had British Relations!

Lord of the Rings author J.R.R. Tolkien's eight-bedroom house in Oxford, England, has been given protected status, Zap2it reported. The residence at 20 Northmoor Road, where Tolkien wrote the beloved fantasy books, has earned a Grade II listing, which means that any future alterations will have to respect the character of the building, and its preservation must be taken into account in any redevelopment, Britain's Heritage Minister, Andrew McIntosh, announced Nov. 23.

"Buildings are usually listed because of their fine architecture or unique design," McIntosh said in a statement. "But we can also give protection to buildings that have historical association with nationally important people or events. Professor Tolkien's house in Oxford is a fine example of this."

"Local architect Fred Openshaw built the house in 1924 for bookshop owner Basil Blackwell. Tolkien had initially lived at 22 Northmoor Road, but later moved his family to the now-protected abode next door in 1930, the site reported. The Tolkiens lived in the brick property, which was built for the county's leading academics at the time, until 1947." - Skiffy News

How very exiting, it appears that the house that the dear J.R.R. Tolkien lived in in Oxford was designed and built by someone who shares Gus' rather unusual surname.

And good heavens, Blackwell's is the finest bookshop in Oxford, so the house has a fine literary pedigree even without the Hobbitry.

Let The Propositioning Begin!

I am most indebted to all of you who attended our little meeting of the minds, and grateful we have the opportunity to meet and plan strategery in the aid of Gus and Co. (not forgetting Bob). My dear and inestimable snuggs is recording secretary for the Ladies Embroidery Circle and Terrorist Society, and submitted the following report, with various proposals adopted:

MINUTES, Emergency Meeting of the LEC & TS
November 21, 2004, 5 pm
re: Aid for Gus and Crew, Who Are Up the Proverbial Creek, as We Blog
Chaired: Miz B., Honorary President, LEC & TS

After the serving of refreshments and two VERY well-received songs from the Tunettes (*Rescue Me* for purpose and *It's Raining Men* for inspiration), Miz B. called the emergency meeting of the LEC & TS to order. Reading of the October minutes of the General Meeting was carried out by Miz Myrtle, and accepted. Motion made by Miz Nikola that all discussions of Casino Night, demonstration of new embroidery technique and part 6 of The Lecture Series, *The French Pedicure: More than a Passing Ooh La La*, with guest lecturer Chad the Cabana Boy, be tabled until the next regular meeting. Motion seconded and carried.

Miz B. reported that the sale of valuable old artifacts last week netted approximately 300 pounds, and since the dollar is dropping like a rock, the equivalent amount in US funds is subject to change without notice, but the change is in Gus' favor. It has been deposited in an offshore bank account in Grand Cayman. Friends of hers in the pub-owning line in George Town have confirmed that the funds were received and will act as local agents for any needed supplies and ship's chandlery and what-not should Gus need them.

New Business: There followed a moving testimonial by all and sundry as to the plight of Gus and his crew, and of course little num-nums Bob. Some discussion of tactics followed and all and sundry were resolved to achieve the goal by whatever non-violent means are necessary. Miz. B. noted that she has several friends who keep hotel bars in Washington D.C., the Colonial capital, who have got some dirt ^H^H^H^H information on certain Congressional persons who have something to do with Naval affairs. At the very least it may be possible to cut off at least one-third of Congress, leaving them with no tipple. It was discussed and decided to table the idea of contacting the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, as they have a very big case on their hands related to the unfortunate War. However, a number of sharply worded letters were already written during the letter-writing portion of the meeting to various government entities, and await postage.

A joint motion was made by the McFinster brothers to call in the Scots Haggis Hunter Bikini Team, as the Swedish Bikini Team was currently unavailable. Motion seconded and carried. After a tense 15 minutes while an international phonecall was placed to Glasgow, we were given the disappointing news that The Team was in hot pursuit of a herd of haggis at Inverness Castle and could not currently be dispatched. The offer of assistance was made for next Saturday, should we still need them. We promised to let them know, and were given Sc. B. T. President McGillicuddy's cell and beeper number for future emergencies.

Founding member Kathy Niedtinka, who is a member of Bass Fisherman/Women of America suggested an ambush of BFA members on the Blubbery Bastid. She detailed her plan to arm 24 members with bait-casting stainless steel rods using 42" lures coated with tuna oil. Unfortunately, timely transportation of bass boats and BFA members to Bill's Triangle was unlikely, and the plan--while appreciated--was reluctantly dismissed.

Snuggs mentioned that the Kitty-Sweet Kat Fud Company ought to know that their former employee was in such trouble and wondered if they oughtn't be contacted. There was some discussion as to whether the Kitty-Sweet Kat Fud Company might also like to buy a lot of Grade W "tuna" - several hundred tonnes, it was estimated - for below wholesale in exchange for some kind of assistance or publicity consideration on Gus' behalf. Possible assistance in this endeavor was offered by Miz Kathy.

After some discussion of the idea, Miz Myrtle opined that fall nest-strengthening and winter foraging season will keep her busy, plus she can't get the time off from the hospital that fast.

The ladies of the Grog Shoppe were then polled to see if any of them had a nodding acquaintance with any erm, members of the members of the U.S. or Tortolan Navy who are currently in pursuit of Gus and crew and thereby instigating Whale-Gate. Horny Ken (lured by the promise of a night with a courageously volunteering Tunette) promised to put us in touch with the moles at the National Enquirer before press time. Unfortunately, the conversation completely disintegrated into rather hilarious comparisons of said members and their attendant abilities, and the comments are best not repeated here in these minutes.

Chad noted that Slebrity Cruise Lines (not to be confused with a competing and much more declasse' company) has got a number of steerage cabins available on their upcoming cruise to the edge of Bill's Triangle from Ft. Lauderdale (it's the popular Caymans-Tortola-Guava-Conch route) and wondered if it would be possible to hitch a ride and effect a rescue (he admits he reads the Shipping News want ads in hopes of taking a paying berth as a pedicurist in the off-season. Miz B. forgave him forthwith).

A Tunette put forward a suggestion that perhaps the ASPCA Rat Rescue people might be contacted in the matter of Bob's continued safety, as it appears he is of an extremely rare breed of Norwegian Whitecoated Pinkfoots. Snuggs agreed to this wholeheartedly. Another Tunette offered to write a "reggay" song to be played on Caribbean radio stations in support of Gus, and to start a pledge drive on said radio stations to raise money for a legal defense fund. She "knows a guy" in Tortola broadcasting, a personality called B-Cool Mon. Miz. B reports that her friends the pub owners in George Town probably know a lot of the local sailing gentry, so will ask them to ask their patrons and matrons tune in to Radio Tortola in the hopes of hearing the song and getting caught up in the pledge drive. Posters are being printed courtesy of the local T-shirt shoppe.

Miz Myrtle wondered if there is any evidence in the ruins of Gus' bayside bungalow that might have been missed or misinterpreted and offered to contact CSI: Mendocino. She also noted the Bard Sinister was not present but may be able to offer legal advice pro bono, and should probably be consulted. A phone call to Mark Geragos dashed our hopes of a timely appeal/filed injunction on Gus' behalf, as he is currently preoccupied with Another Appeal.

It was moved by Miz. B and seconded by Snuggs that Something Be Done. Volunteers were asked for and a list of those volunteers are so noted:

Miz B. will coordinate fundage to be deposited in the Cayman's account and set up an Internet Mail round-robin to advise all her pub-owning friends in the Caribbean about the song and the pledge drive and so forth. If time allows, she may try to take that sea cruise. She will also consult with the Bard Sinister regarding any suggestions of legal representation.

Chad will provide immoral support and definately plans to go on the cruise in an attempt to make contact, also drum up support with clients and crew.

Snuggs will contact the Kitty-Sweet Kat Fud Company in re: grade W "tuna" and also the Rat Rescue people. Miz Kathy will co-ordinate the BFA people.

The Tunettes will write the song, perform it at all their gigs, and use their powers of persuasion to ensure local airplay and start the pledge drive.

Miz Myrtle will provide free medical care if needed and try to switch her vacation around, because she's up for a sea cruise. She will also check on that evidence at the Mendocino Crime Lab via a friend from med school, Son of Quincey.

Respectfully submitted,

snuggs

Anyone wishing to volunteer for any of the above propositions is invited to submit their name, moniker, handle, or nom-de-Interweb thingy in the usual manner.

If there is enough interest in the cruise, we may be able to get a group rate (10 cabin minimum at $450 per person quad occupancy, $200 per person deposit due within 7 days, plus port fees and taxes. Insurance strongly recommended. Final payment due on departure, as date is TBA. Credit cards only. All rates in US fundage). If we do manage to scrape up enough people for a group rate, the travel agent tells me she shall donate half of her commission to the Openshaw Defense Fund. All meals included, plus selected events include free drinks. All other bevvys must be purchased on board.

*Cough* Of course, my carry-on luggage would be extremely heavy and fragile. I shall have to tip the porters accordingly if I decide to go.

In any case, if anyone not in attendance has any helpful suggestions, feel free to bung them in where we can see them.

The Naval Intelligence Game

Music Cue: Spanish Flea


Hi, I'm Smarmy Host, and welcome to "The Naval Intelligence Game!" Our newest antagonist hails from Cleveland, Ohio. He's 51 years old and is in command of the swiftest ship in the U.S. Navy, HSV Millard Fillmore. He'd love to tell you about his favorite secrets, but then he'd have to kill you. Giving a whole to meaning to the phrase "naval intelligence," please give it up for Captain James. J. Knucz.

[APPLAUSE]

Thank you for joining us, Captain Knucz. For the record, did I say your name right? As in "Canucks?"

No, actually it's pronounced exactly like "canoes," Smarm.

Oh, sorry, welcome Captain -

It rhymes with "snooze."



Right, sorry, I'll start again - welcome, Captain Knucz. So tell us about this sexy new boat you command -

Ship. It's a ship. A boat can be on a ship, but if a ship's on a boat, call the Coast Guard. And if it's on Knucz, I'm up shit creek without a paddle. Call my doctor. Thank you.

Oh, that's Naval humor is it? Okay then, it's too big to be a boat, so it's a ship. Now in today's game-

See, it's funny because I'm a Navy man, and for me to call the Coast Guard... we just don't do that. That's like the Marines calling the Boy Scouts to ask for help invading Grenada.

Yes, I got that. Right - in today's game we'll ask you some questions about Naval Int-

Also, a boat would get crushed to smithereens by a ship, and that's always funny. When I do it, anyway. But the Board of Inquiry thought otherwise. And canoes - well, I get that all the time.

Ha! Very funny! And now on to today's game at last. You command something called an HSV. What's that? Can you tell us in just a few words?

Smarm, it's a High Speed Vessel. That means it's a very fast ship.

Right. And you use it to, what, fight terrorists? Chase pirates? Yo ho and all that?

We chase suspected drug dealers and perform interdictions, where basically we pull up and point our big guns at them and tell them "We don't want your filthy drugs! Go peddle them on the Internets or something, you dirty rotten stinkers!" Also, we've been liasing with an environmental group while we get the HSV program up to speed. That's more Naval humor, Smarm. Speed.

Wow! That's exciting! Tell me more about those mighty big guns, Captain.

Smarmy, we're packin' heat. We've got a MK 96 w 25mm/40mm stabilized gun; that means it's got stabilizers and things to keep it, uh, stable. When we fire it. Also we've got a MK 45 Snake Eyes machine gun, with an optional MK 19 grenade launcher attachment. It'll stop something the size of a bull elephant, or maybe 5 bull elephants, right in its tracks. If it had feet, and wasn't in the water, I guess. Over to you, Smarmy, I got nothing more about guns.

And how fast can this High Speed Vessel go, Captain?

Smarmy, our top speed is 45 knots. That's 53+ miles per hour, or 85+ kilometers per hour. Our normal operating speed is 30 knots, which is about 34+ miles per hours, or 55+ kilometers per hour.

And how much did this bad boy cost, Captain?

Only about $21 mil, Smarm. The Navy usually gets a bag of hammers and a bosun's whistle for that.

Huh. We'll come back to that later. Captain Knucz, can you tell us anything about your first big mission with the Millard Fillmore? Without stepping on my "I'd have to kill you" joke, that is.

Sure, Smarmy, it's kind of a public relations deal with this anti-whaling outfit called "Bluepeace." They're after some old wharf rat that pissed them off... sorry, can I say that on network? Ticked them off about killing some whales or something, but really we're in it so we can go in and clean out a notorious arms dealer who's active in the area. Don't tell them that part, though, or their lawyers will be on my can because of the non-disclosure... Oh, and, uh, we're performing joint maneuvers with the Tortolan Navy, and providing photographers and an old fashioned fusilade salute for some wing-ding VIP social event they're putting on. We also suspect them of being on the take for all the aforesaid arms dealing and drug running. You could say there's a lot on our plate. But really it's supposed to look like good old red-blooded American sabre-rattling...and public relations and getting the bad guys, of course. Bastards. Can I say that?

Ha! Ha! You salty old sea dog! Captain, this arms dealer - are you taking the men (and possibly women) of the Navy into harm's way? He's probably packing a little of the hot stuff himself, don't you think?

Nothing we can't handle, Smarmy. He's got a bunch of crazy weapons for an extremely specialized niche market - mostly sneaky assassination tools and stealth torpedoes modified to look like biologicals - that's sea life to you, Smarmy. And we suspect he really finances it all with drug-running, because he's got a fleet of Cigarette boats that he and his guys tool around the Caribbean in. They're going to be pretty easy to spot - they're loud and have really garish paint jobs. It'll be a pleasure blowing them out of the water, believe me. We're based in Florida, and those "thunder boats" guys are all alike. 6 o'clock in the morning, tuning up their damn boats sometimes.

Pardon me for saying this, Captain, but aren't Cigarette boats just a little faster than your... High Speed Vessel? I've got a snappy little number they call American Muscle - I'm Smarmy Host, you know, so I have to have a nice ride when I'm down in Boca on hiatus.



Oh, uh, sorry Smarmy, didn't mean to lump you in with a bunch of dirty rotten stinking drug runners with bad hair and garish paint jobs. On their boats, I mean. Sorry. No offense.

None taken, but I think you should know that my little boat goes about twice as fast as the "Millard Fillmore" at about a twentieth of the cost... and the arms dealer guy has probably modified his to be even sweeter on the water than mine is. And believe me, she's a sweet, sweet baby. She can outrun you and outmaneuver you. And that's just with stock engines, not the custom jobs your arms dealer guy's got.

Oh, really? I did not know that.

And that's another episode of "The Naval Intelligence Game!" With us today was U.S. Navy Captain James J. Knucz - ladies, that rhymes with "snooze!" Maybe next week we'll actually get around to playing our game, so until then here's a big "MMMMM-WA!" smooch to everyone out there in television land!

Marriage of Convenience

Appearances can be deceiving, my pets. I am quite a foolish old besom but there is something profoundly untrustworthy and venal in Verman's face. I prefer to believe that Sybil is being abducted 'gainst her will and is not the fickle heartbreaker her recent email and engagement announcement would have us believe.

Verman could be using her to get to Gus and to give him a plausible pretext to head in his direction (I expect Interpol has had him under surveillance for some time, as rather a lot of international drug cartel contraband they attempt to trace goes mysteriously missing in his patch of the Caribbean). He simply oozes corruption and greed, and is almost certainly a Bad Hat.

On the other hand, Sybil could be playing a most dangerous game - seeming to go along with the preposterous wedding plans (really, who gets married on a rust-bucketty old frigate these days) in order to get to Gus. And coincidentally, she will be on quite a serviceable rust-bucketty old frigate, absolutey stuffed full of fuel, arms, and the sorts of toys that brighten the eyes of crusty old demolitions and ballistics experts the world over. And if the Toaster of Mass Destruction is up to the task, p'raps Gus may yet be able to defeat the effete Tortolans and take the frigate and go after the whale and of course Sybil would be there too...

*POP!*

Well, that was a lovely pipe dream, wasn't it? Yes, it seems quite hopeless. I shan't give on Sybil until it is absolutely proven that she's an adventuress of the worst sort, but I should hate to be disappointed in her, as I admire her so. It is all too easy for poor dear Gus to assume the worst, but I shall try to keep faith with the dream for a bit longer.

And besides which, Flarq and Thesaurus would never let him get away with simply blowing the whale out of the sea with the application of several tonnes of Tortolan Naval ordnance, so unless the frigate has a rack of antique harpoons below decks, they'll probably refuse to participate in the boarding party. Such charmingly stubborn traditionalits they are, to be sure. So that's another perfectly good outcome gone West.

Dangerous Toasters

MADISON, Wis. - A fire alarm set off by smoke in the state Capitol caused an evacuation before firefighters located the source of the problem — a toaster and a singed muffin.

Gus had better be careful. This toaster is armed and dangerous (pardon, another inadvertent limb comment).

Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal

Date: Wed, November 17, 2004

From: queensybilofconch@yahoo.com

To: gusopenshaw@yahoo.com

Subject: us

gus:

sorry, i have to end it with you. i'm no good at letters like this. in any case, the bottom line is: that's it (i realize that in this case that, technically, that was the top line, but whatever).

sybil


Do you Yahoo?
Check out the new Yahoo Front Page www.yahoo.com

The dear Bard thinks this is a coded message, because it's dated 2 days from now. I'm inclined to agree, because I'm sure she was taught better punctuation in princess school.

I Wonder If Dealer Dan Is Involved in this Cocaine Squid Bust...

... because what if he kept a few giant squid "on ice" when Sybil ran off to foment revolution in her homeland? Its possible Sybil used them as models for her S-1 prototype, then left them in the freezer.

And if Sybil suspects her email has been wiretapped, she might well be sending coded messages to Gus, as the dear Bard Sinister suspected? This could well be the explanation for her odd responses.

LIMA, Peru (Reuters) - Peruvian police said on Monday they seized nearly 1,540 pounds (700 kg) of cocaine hidden in frozen giant squid bound for Mexico and the United States.

The drugs were covered in pepper to divert sniffer dogs and sealed in several layers of plastic and other wrappers. Police had been on the trail since August.

Seven people were arrested in the drug seizure. Police said the haul would have a street value of about $17.5 million.

Seven people... one of them possibly known in the Armaments World as "Dealer Dan?"

If Pyrates Rrruled the Worrrld, Mateys

In some ways, we'd be better off, but there would be quite a lot more parrot droppings. In other ways, we'd be much worse off.

Flarq In a Funq

The intrepid crew of the Georgette withdraw in some confusion - they harpooned the wrong whale, apparently, and are now deep into conspiracy theory mode. Meanwhile, they're out of fuel.

And Flarq is deeply contemplative, apparently wondering if his cetacean adversary may be intelligent enough to use feints, misdirection, and squid-marked doubles to draw them all into an ambush.

It's high time they had some R&R, too - but unless a boatload of doxies happens by with several extra barrels of fuel, a happy outcome is unlikely.

Kangaroo Court Justice

A while back, dear Gus and I had a 'nexchange about when the kangaroos would start hoppin' around the Tortolan courtroom where his trial in absentia was being held. This was the sort of kangaroo court justice I had in the lumber room that is my mind - complete with judicial marsupial, gavel, robes and all. As you can see, my theory is bourne out - the legal wigs fall off wot with the incessant hoppin' about.

I thank you for your patience in this matter, it has taken some time to resolve this question.

OXO Spatulas: Flip Whales As Well As Pancakes

Dear GOD. Now this latest dispatch from a small open boat in the midst of the Caribbean, chasing that BLOODY whale (I trust no pardons are necessary by this point):

Flarq meanwhile retrieved the spatula from the sack. Then he wound up and flung. A strong throw, but flopping end over end, and landing short, unfortunately, on the bastard’s head. But then it skipped forward and fell in the water right smack in front of his eyes. It caught the sun like a flashbulb going off.

Suddenly, it was as if Dickhead had yanked his emergency brake. Then he turned. Not back towards us as we’d hoped though. To his right.

“Even better,” said Thesaurus.

The reason: The bastard’s starboard side was exposed and well within harpoon range.

A long time ago I read a magazine article by this pro rugby player about the perfect pass. This guy not only spent every day of his life practicing so he could come close to throwing it, he spent his nights dreaming about. And he wrote his vision of it, for nine whole pages, how the spiral’d catch the light with each revolution like in a Rembrandt picture, etc., etc., as if he was describing a goddess descending.

I hadn’t thought about that article since, not till Thesaurus loosed the harpoon at the bastard today. It soared so straight and so swift you’d’ve believed one of those gods he’s always praying to had descended and invisibly guided it. The Manila line attached to it sizzled all around the whaleboat like lightning. Then the iron struck, ten or so feet forward of the fin—right where you want it—and lodged in good and firm.

As you’d expect, trying to loose it, the whale leapt up. At once it felt like my heart might do the same.

“Cut the line!” I shouted to Flarq. “We got the wrong whale!”

Will his trials and tribulations never cease? Why no, Socrates, apparently not. I should just like to point out that Stupid George made the sighting. He cried "whale," but he did say there was a B on his noggin. So it's very odd that this whale does not sport the Mark of the Beast What Et The Family And Arm Of Gus.

And now they are down to the brave little toaster as far as anti-whale munitions. I much misdoubt that no matter how well aimed and fired, a sharpened fork can do much against the Terror of Mendocino.

Still, it was a mighty throw of the harpoon. Well done, Thesaurus. And the spatula was well slung as well. Nicely played, Flarq.

Banner Flying, They Set Off Whaleward

And so our intrepid crew are all in an open whaleboat, with one harpoon (and a toaster modified to function as a knife launcher) between them for whale-killing weaponry. In a high-tech world, they choose to go non-tech. There's something admirable and noble in the venture... and possibly foolhardy.

There's quite a snappy new banner at the top of Gus' journal that directs new shipmates to begin at the beginning and catch up to current events on and around the (what's the dratted name of the latest vessel? Ah!) Georgette. I fear, however, that new people are being directed to the beginning of a whale-killing yarn nearing its end, for how can they possibly survive this challenge (without hopelessly tangling the narrative threads of said yarn)?

Strangely enough, it seems after all these months we have come to the wickedly sharp point of the tale - hardened, resolute men in a small boat, going out to do battle to the death with Leviathan.

As for their motivations, it's been clear from the beginning that Gus wishes to wreak revenge on the bloodthirsty rogue cetacean what et his limb and kin. The reason why the others are so heavily invested in the enterprise is less obvious.

Flarq and Thesaurus, being old-school whalemen, have a skill-set that has almost become extinct. In fact, they may be some of the very last true harpooners on the globe, other than a few Inuit and Northwestern Pacific Coast indigenes. They simply wish to see the deed done proper and with honor. They are stalwarts in every sense of the word, giving Gus their full support. That is, when they are not believed to be dead and very nearly buried at sea (Flarq has managed to avoid this complication thus far).

Moses is a thrill junkie. For him, it's either this or work as a bouncer on the "Maury Povich" show - even with wretched living conditions, the likelihood of being hung by devout Cetaceanists, and being thrown into the vilest jails in the Caribbean, whaling still has better hours. Plus the tips are, as he says, "da kine."

Duq is handy to have around if you need a psychopath with a cleaver (oh, dear, that was inadvertent. Beg pardon). Bit of a loose cannon in that department (viz. the incident where he tried to cut off some MORE of Gus' arm - see line 1 above also), but in his way reliable. As in, you can always rely on him to go off screaming and waving dangerously sharp cookery implements at the drop of a scrimshaw, so best p'int him in the direction of your enemies before letting gravity get the scriven whale tooth.

Nelson - well, charming rogue though he may be, he is an opportunist. He occasionally seems to be caught up in the spirit of things, but his mind is constantly straying to the main chance, and improving his standing with "the ladies." And, of course, increasing the size of his ever-burgeoning collection of "pix!" I'm not certain, but I think he's only in it for the bragging rights, to lend a hand (just the one now), and possibly for revenge-motivated reasons of his own.

Amongst the human (or near-human) complement, this brings me to Bob. Ha, ha, I jest. This actually brings us to Stupid George. Some how he has managed to both survive and achieve Employee of the Week at least once (silly me, he always survives, it's EOW he's only achieved just once). He appears to fill the role of buffoon - every cruise has to have That Guy that ends up doing all the scutwork jobs. However, he has hopes and aspirations of his own, which is quite comforting in its completely rockheaded way.

And last of all, dear little Bob, whose post-battle convalescence in hospital on Conch enthralled the female shipmates, causing a fair amount of consternation and resentment amongst the human complement of Gus' crew, and tied up the Conchan post office with gifts of pillows and cheese for weeks. Yes, even dear little Bob (AKA "num-nums" according to my estimable barmaid-cum-pub manager snuggs) may yet have a role to play other than simply as a pet for "the ladies" to coo over (but you must admit his widdle pink earses and buttony-wutton nose am very sweet with 'iddums widdle whiskers...URK!)

Pardon. Fortunately, I had an insulin self-injector handy.

So for now they row versus waves that break over the bow of their little craft, fighting the tide, the current, the very movement of the oceans of the earth against them. Indomitable to the last, very stubborn, and fighting for their way of life (such as it is) they go on. So long as Gus can maintain some sort of Interweb thingy connexion, we wait with breath abated (no fish were harmed in the making of this jest).

A parallel Tale: The Life Aquatic

How very rococo. There is something all too familiar about this revenger's tale of the shark that et his friend. And it appears that Nelson's doppelganger got some work of it, too. Very nice for him, but we still have to endure the strangely compelling image (now burned on my retinas, alas) of Mr. William Murray, Actor, in a skin-tight silver dive suit. Preening, as only Mr. Murray can do. It nearly made me spit Earl Grey (the tea, my dears, THE TEA) all over my screen. Still, the music is very lively.

Perhaps some Hollywood type has been following the saga of Gus and the whale that et his kid, wife, and arm. Gus could probably get a writer's or adaptation credit.

God Save The Queen

I'm feeling rather chuffed about this. It's not often that Her Majesty speaks out, but the issue strikes rather close to matters dear to my heart.

There! 'Nuff said. Hanky, please.