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.
2 comments:
miz b:
life often immitates art...but sometimes it's just imagination imitatin' life imitatin' art. *sighs* the mcfinster brothers decided to re-enact gus' current post last nite, just before closing. don't go look at the common room.....it's not pretty. there are spatulas and harpoons impaled all over the far wall. someone managed to hook a spatula on one of the stag-above-the-fireplace's antlers. our stag head has been punked. i don't know what to do, miz b. perhaps havin' the miscreants repair the damage and a week's ban? i defer to you.....
snuggs (")
p.s. last weeks lemons were not pretty. i'm just sayin'.
*considers* Act-chually, the spatula is an improvement. Now the moose effects a somewhat more informal, insouciant image, a bit more in keeping with our rather undignified but invigorating revels.
It shall be a tribute. Let it stay as a reminder that even a lowly spatula can bring a large mammal to its knees (even those species that have evolved beyond them).
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