Battle Diary: The Aquatic Mammal Crusade

As I sat the other day in front of my computer screen, I began to notice a burning, chafing sensation. Recognizing these symptoms, I immediately minimized my porn, reaffixed my pants and hobbled to the kitchen to rummage through the freezer for something to ease the awful burning of my loins. A stream of curses flew out of my mouth as I realized I used the last of the ice on my cocktail and the idea of pouring a slushy tray of ice water on my crotch and then sitting next to an electrical device seemed counter productive so I went searching of an alternative. Now as I, and by extension every blue-blooded American, know only as much as TV and movies have seen fit to teach me, I began rewinding and replaying different crotchal injuries in my head to find a solution. And then it hit me! F*ing! Frozen! Vegtables! Like a kid on Christmas, I plunged in a blind ecstasy into the freezer rapidly shuffling through items in search of my holy grail. My frenzied smile vanished immediately when I realized that A) I have no vegetables in my house, frozen or otherwise; and B) My nuts still really hurt. I began to rack my brains for some way to fix this lousy situation and it was then that I noticed the bag of pizza rolls. Jackpot. Unsure about how one goes about using frozen food products as an ice pack effectively, I simply dropped my fly and unceremoniously dumped in the contents of the bag.

Sated and with a fresh cocktail I resumed my seat at my pc and popped the porn window back open. BIG MISTAKE. With a sharp cry my poor boys began repeatedly pleading “Close it! Close it! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD NO MORE!” Never one to ignore the urgings from my manhood, I closed the window and began trying to come up with a new diversion. Failing to find anything else, I settled on the news. After sludging my way through story after story about terrorists this and politicians that and like 17 earthquakes, I finally stumbled upon some real news. THE F*ING WHALES ARE REVOLTING AND MURDERING THE $HIT OUT OF THEIR TRAINERS!!!

Now, normally I’m a pretty easy going guy and random savagery is not usually enough to get my attention. And to be frank, anyone who tries to “train” a gigantorous meat eating fish monster is basically begging for a little mauley-mauley, rapey-rapey, drowney-drowney time. Even the fact that every single news outlet in the f*ing world was running the story was not a deal breaker in our sensationalist news culture. What really got through to me was the fact the GOD wanted the slimy fish sucker dead. Oh, and apparently the curator in charge of animal behavior as well….

I sat in mute silence dully trying to comprehend this awful cluster-f* of whale-slaughterfestness and tried to piece together what it meant. Could a respected religious organization really be calling for the stoning to death of a whale simply for doing what God programmed it to do? Surely not. Naturally, the good people at the American Family Association must know something I don’t…

Being the good researcher I am, I set out to solve this dastardly mystery.
Fact 1) God doesn’t smite animals simply for being animals. If this were true there wouldn’t be a single creature with claws, fangs or venom left. Which means no kitties or puppies since we all know they are nipping and scratching machines and many other animals that do nothing but kill the shit out of other animals, oh and F*, they’re definitely good at F*ing
Fact 2) God does smite the $hit out of random humans that anger him for some reason. The bible is full of these little tidbits like Sodom and Gomorrah, or Egypt for instance where whole populations were raped in the face, so to speak, in the name of divine justice.
Conclusion) There must be something human in the whales to make their stoning necessary.

Mystery. F*ing. Solved. Now I know it sounds crazy, but if you think about it for a second it seems logical. The first time you saw a blowhole didn’t you want to F* the shit out of it? I know I did. Now, lets imagine your on a boat for years at a time with a bunch of sweaty hairy men who have the consistent odor of old mildewey balls and rotten fish vag. Are you honestly going to tell me that whenever you had a chance you wouldn’t be trying like mad to catch one of those mobile floating F*-holes?

What happened apparently was that after generation and generation of whale boning, human DNA began to fuse with the whale DNA and boom: half-man-half-whale and 100% smiteable creatures are now running wild through our oceans. Worse, the AFA knew about it the whole F*ing time and we were all just too stupid to pay attention to their message! I did a little additional research working on the assumption that if whale blow holes are tempting, how much more so must dolphins be considering that I would imagine it would be slightly easier to wrangle a dolphin than a whale? It turns out F*ing flipper must have been just as entertaining because those little bastards are at it too.

Faced with the ultimate horror of an army of mutant whale-men fueled by seamen’s semen and possible ancestral histories of the cruel raping of their grandsires I decided now was the time to take action against these slimy, floppy SOBs and formed a 3 phase plan of attack.

PHASE 1: Hoarding
As every good American and survivalist will tell you, the first order of business when faced with any kind of threat from terrorism, the flu, or even those noisy kids next door is to begin cramming as much $hit into your home as absolutely possible. Many people approach this with a kind of reckless abandon grabbing pretty much everything that isn’t nailed down, throwing it into their cart and then crashing through the sliding Plexiglas doors at the local market screaming and trampling old women and children as they go. Now while this certainly would be a hilarious course of action to take, I knew that to be truly prepared for the aquatic mammal army I would have to be much,much more efficient.

Running on a steady diet of amphetamines and alcohol I sprinted out the door to my car dropping pizza rolls out the leg of my pants as I went. I was tearing out of my driveway when I noticed a small child in a finding nemo shirt. Knowing he must surely be a spy for my deep-sea enemies I tried to swerve over and render him into chum. The little bastard must have aqua-man like telekinesis because he managed to dive off his bike at the last second leaving me with only the small satisfaction that he was no longer mobile as I heard the satisfying crunch of his bike under my wheels. A woman near the boy began yelling and gesturing frantically, congratulating me, I assumed, on my near success against our common enemy. I raise my middle finger out the window in a salute (obviously this will be our new signal in the battle to come) and proceeded on to the liquor store.

I burst in and screamed “F* me they’re coming! They’re cooommmmiinnnnggg!” and proceeded to grab every single bottle of vodka I could locate and toss it into the large burlap sack I had brought along for this purpose. I then jumped behind the counter where a wide-eyed clerk was clutching a revolver in shaking hands. He started to raise it in my general direction but I merely laughed and snagged the pistol out of his hands. “Relax friend, I’m no whale-man mutant” I said and laughed again. Then just to prove it I downed some more uppers and pounded a fifth of vodka after digging around in my sack to retrieve one. I then went to business grabbing up cartoons of cigarettes and placing them into another burlap sack.

When both sacks were filled to the bursting I proceeded in an orderly fashion to walk out. When I was in the doorway the startled clerk managed to stutter out “ar-ar-are you planning on p-p-p-aying for those?”. I gave him a hard stare and gravely stated “No friend, it’s for the cause”. “By the way” I said as I left while holding up my new pistol “you might want to look into buying a firearm they’ll be here soon.” I jumped back into my car and hauled a$$ back to my house to get ready for…

PHASE 2: Home Defense
After securing my smokes and booze for the next week or so, I set down to the business of making my home a whale and dolphin proof fortress. My initial thought was a moat, but being that water is their natural habitat, I decided to forego the traditional water moat for a moat filled to a brim with beach sand. If I know one thing that will get these vicious bastards for sure, its getting stuck on a beach. Unfortunately, after digging for about 30 min I realized digging holes f*ing sucks. Not to mention that the sun was way too bright and I was seriously in need of another cocktail.

After abandoning my moat idea and fixing myself another cocktail I started rummaging around the house for other useful items. I found some old tuna cans left negligently under the sink and after checking the label to be sure it wasn’t dolphin friendly, mounted them on posts in a perimeter around the house. I figure if I couldn’t have a moat, empty eaten cans of what must have been at least 80% dolphin would be enough to at least make them hesitate. Then my luck suddenly changed for the better when I stumbled across an old tackle box. I proceeded to string a slew of hooks across every possible entrance to my home. Finally, I duct-taped together a number of spoons and forks to form a fairly fearsome (if unstable) looking trident. Looking confidently around my now secure domicile (and hoping like hell nothing would make me have to leave through the now fishhook-laced doorways) I started working on:

Phase 3: Pre-emptive strike
If growing up under both the Bush administrations has taught me anything its that when you feel threatened in any way the only solution is to attack first and destroy the little bastards before they have a chance to get you. Now, while its all fine and good to know what you need to do, how to do it however, is another matter entirely. I began to consider what options were available to me. Being that I currently live in the Midwest no where near any type of body of water wherein my enemies might be found however, they were woefully few. Additionally, I was fairly hesitant to risk leaving my house and risk exposing myself or disturbing my defenses.

I sat in my chair grinding my teeth in teeth grinding frustration when I suddenly realized I had to piss. Like really, really bad. I reached for the coffee can I keep handy for just such occasions, but quickly realized that it was already full to the brim. Sighing in exasperation, I got up and headed into the primitive “bathroom” to relive myself. As I flushed what I can only assume is around 85% alcohol down, the solution to my dilemma hit me.

Taking a page out of Saddam’s book, I decided to employ chemical warfare. Using the toilet as my source of transportation I would hit those bastards where it hurt: their homes. With a grin of triumphant triumph on my face, I once again began rummaging around my house for ingredients for my “pay load.” I grabbed an assortment of pharmaceuticals that I had laying randomly around the house, some old exploded batteries and an assortment of cleaning products I discovered that must have been left by the previous resident. I poured everything I had into the bowl and was pleased immediately pleased when I noticed hazy fumes beginning to rise. I laughed manically as I stirred my concoction with a wooden spoon. Tears, of joy I assume, started to form and I began to feel dizzy and disoriented from elation. I leaned forward to fire my present directly into those bastard whales face when….

I awoke with a spitting headache and a dry sour taste in my mouth. I noticed I was strapped to a bed. There were weird tubes going into me and two men in jumpsuits were standing over me staring intently into a monitor. I feared the worst.

Me: What happened? Where are they?? OH GOD MY BALLS! DID THEY GET MY BALLS?!?!?
Jumpsuit man 1: Holy $hit, hes awake…
Jumpsuit man 2: Now calm down you’ve…
Me: You calm down!! What did they do with my boys?!?
Jumpsuit man 1: Sir, the police were called to your residence. We found you passed out in your bathroom next to a toilet filled with chemicals. Your being taken for medical treatment.
Me: Oh, thank God! They must have heard of my plans and pre-pre-emptive struck me. Good thing you guys showed up before they could harvest my nut juice. Could you imagine an unstable army of sexy unstoppable human-whale monsters?? What I still don’t understand is how did they get through my fishhooks?

“About those” a voice said. I turned and saw a hitherto unnoticed uniformed police officer in the back of the ambulance who, strangely enough, had a number of cuts all over his face and a conspicuous hook dangling from just above his right eye. “One day soon” he said his voice thick with menace “you and I are going to have a looong talk about those fishhooks.”