Moby-Dick: The Whale’s Story

Note: Thanks to recent breakthroughs in the decoding of porpoise and dolphin communication, marine biologists have been deciphering the language of that other grand mammal of the sea, the whale. One of the first stories to emerge from the briny depths is an alternate telling of the saga of Moby-Dick, from the whale’s point of view. Following is an excerpt, which reveals that Mr. Melville hadn’t presented the most balanced account:

So, it’s like, I’m just kinda swimming around, you know, trying to get a little tan (I am so damn pale!) and I’m heading down to the Caribbean, you know, I love making calves down there, if you know what I mean — and on my way, you know, I’m coming up to blow my spout real big, impress a little herd of gnarly narwhale hotties, and ZING! ZANG! PING! Some dude with a scruffy beard is peppering me with harpoons. Now, I’m as live-and-let-live as the next gigantic warm-blooded seafaring fish-like monster, but, I mean, hey, when I’m trying to make time with some chickage and I’m getting hassled, well, I have my limits. It’s like, I knew eyes were on me, I couldn’t just wimp out. So, well, I guess I over-reacted but I yanked the guy’s leg off. No biggie. I mean, it’s not like that creep didn’t have another one?!

I thought I’d be rid of that pain in the blowhole. So, anyway, me and The chicks, we go hang in the outer Hebrides. So, I think I’m cool, chillin’, you know, and then, I’m coming up for air one fine day off, holy shit, there’s that pesky dude again! I mean, what’s up with that guy? Hasn’t he heard of just kickin’ back, you know, watchin’ some Regis? But no, he’s all pissed off and shit and I look and I’ll be damned if the dude hasn’t screwed a peg onto where I tore off his leg. Kind of clever these humanoids, I must say. (Well, they are mammals too, aren’t they?) But this guy is really ticked off, and he’s throwing those damn harpoons at me again and I’m, like, come on dude, like, what’s up? But no. So, well, I try to split, but damn, their boat’s in the way, like, sorry, but I’ve always been a little clumsy. (I get that from my mom’s side of the family.) Old Peg-Leg Pete won’t leave me alone, he just climbs up on my back, I get a real good look at him, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if he doesn’t look one whole helluva a lot like none other than Gregory Peck. (I loved him in Roman Holiday, didn’t you?)

So, anyway, he’s really starting to bug me because it’s spawning season in the Maldives and I got a couple hot Sperm Whales waiting on me, so, well, I just dive. I mean, how did I know nut-man was tangled up on my back? So, anyways, he’s with me now. But you know what’s the real beauty part of it all? a) The Sperm Whale chicks think he’s some kind of bling bling and b) they make a movie out of the whole thing and I can get a table any time I want at the Ivy. So there. Later.

             —Moby-Dick