A Whale and Bull Story

All posts have been imported from my other blog, Only in America.






I wrote this piece back in February 2007, I have used it as a first up on my new dedicated whale blog hosted by Wordpress, aptly named, as you will see by the header, Don't fuck With Teddy.

I had a new dedicated whale blog, until that is, I came to realise that I hadn't enough years left in me to become conversant with the dozens of totally unnecessary (for your average blogger) bells and whistles that infest the site. Simply put, a feckin nightmare.


Re-worked and polished up a tad, I thought it worthy enough to launch a new tag, Mankind is a Bollocks. And ain't he just.

~

Everybody gets them, well most everybody.You know what I'm talking about, the animal moments, the ones that make you go ahhh, and you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Pictures of small furry animals, "dog risks all" stories. "Fearless dog snatches new born twins and confused granny from the jaws of death as runaway train/car/boat/plane..... those kind of moments.

I get them too, and never more so than when someone has captured it on film for posterity. Those lovely ahhhh moments, when the bull gets it just right and the matador gets it all wrong.

Those lovely moments, captured for all time, allowing us to replay ad infinitum that precise moment when the deadly horn of that much tormented, bloodied and weakened bull, enters the soft vulnerable flesh of it's tormentor.

Those lovely but fleeting moments as the horn takes it's upward and sweeping path on it's way to gore and disembowel, wishing and hoping, that as the deadly spike follows such a curve, it has been fortuitous and removed certain appendages, appendages that would more commonly be described as manhood, but alas, a misnomer in cases such.

Those ahhh moments that give way to moments of excitement, moments that are not unlike those to be found at, shall we say, a football game. It's the last minute of the last quarter, your team has possession and it's all to play for, and as the play commences you find yourself screaming unrestrained at the TV set, shouting words of advice and encouragement, giving little thought that such words go unheard and are entirely irrational; the blood is up and the moment is at hand.
Though not I, it must be said, I use the football game purely as an analogy, truth be told I think I would sooner find myself aground on a lee shore that suffer a football game; but that's another matter.

But for myself I have always found these moments, these moments of advantage, occur at the beginning of a match, before one side has even made an opening gambit.Whilst still strong and not yet bloodied, the less fancied of the contenders in this uneven match, takes the initiative of surprise and leaps headlong into the fray, and instantly the game's afoot



As the bull shakes off it's confines, and with charge and a mighty leap, clears the barricade into the crowd of unsuspecting but much surprised specimens of failure, that I will not honour with terms normally associated with our species. And how more failed could specimens be than these wretches who have sunk to a level below the gutter, so low as to part with gold in order to sit in comfort to watch such a spectacle of depravity and label it entertainment.

Now as the maddened bull deviates from the planned program and I watch as peerless and priceless masks of horror sets the faces of these collective failures. I, like the football supporter, irrationally scream my instructions, and as such my support, "Left, go left, that's it, oh what a wonderful connection. Straight on now, two with one stone, yes trample that sonofabitch, and yes the bitch herself, a quick flick of the head that's it, oh doesn't she look good on the end of that horn, onward onward, there's plenty more to be had, what joy, what justice."

Every dog has his day, on occasion the bull his glory, and me, a warm fuzzy moment.

But unfortunately the same cannot be said for that most magnificent of creatures, the whale. Born and bred, and some to die in horrific circumstances long before their time. Born and bred in that element that is their own, their natural habitat, which should afford them the safety and sanctuary that is their right, for the oceans of this planet are not the habitat of man.

For these much to be pitied, poor defenceless creatures, no dog day for them, no warm and fuzzy feeling will they experience. No Captain Ahab moments for them as they dive the ocean depths with their tormentor, entangled in his own tools of death, strapped to their backs; the same tools that would have in turn, visited death upon them, their families and their companions.

No Ahab moments alas, only moments of respite as this race of despicable failures hound you to your deaths in the name of "Scientific Research"

I hope your fucking boat sinks and takes every man jack of you with it.






The bull his glory. And a few warm and fuzzy clips below.