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Thoughts on the Frenzied Errant Whale Saga

Here's some advice for the people in charge that might come in handy the next time a couple of ocean going behemoths appear in waters in which you don't think they belong: leave them alone.
 
 
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In response to what hopefully is the final tail-slapping video of The Frenzied Errant Whale Saga: The Sequel, I have some advice for the people in charge that might come in handy the next time a couple of ocean going behemoths appear in waters in which you don't think they belong: Leave them alone. Get out of their way. Don't even look at them.

Let the immense beasts go their own way without your questionable assistance. They are not your species monkey boy. You are helping the same way silverware helps a garbage disposal.

Especially when your idea of help consists of poking them with sticks, banging on pipes, spraying with fire hoses and piping underwater recordings of killer whale noises near where you think they might be. Pretty much the watery equivalent of throwing crap against a wall and seeing what sticks. You had no idea what you were doing. You had no idea if it helped. You had no idea if you made it worse. Why? Because, listen closely: You Are Not A Whale.

And I know you can't control the urge to anthropomorphize everything to cute and cuddly beanie baby status but come on: Delta & Dawn? Gag. You don't give solemn ancient behemoth creatures punny adorable names. Their real monikers are probably elegant mournful sounds like Errraauuuuuuuuuugh and Meeeeaaaraaauuuugh. How would you like it if a whale called your daughter Reeeuuuuubaaaaaaag on TV?

No, we don't know why they're here. Who cares? Maybe they had a telepathic message for Nancy Pelosi to get her act together or were changing the batteries on the delta's pollution monitors or fresh water annoys the barnacles on their dorsals.

Then again, maybe their ancestors regaled them with heroic Humpback tales of the Delta and they were moseying around looking at the legendary sights; just really big tourists. Like the Germans at Yosemite. With blowholes. And yes, that is funny and no, it's not redundant.

Could be they're related to that whale who made the same trip about 20 years ago. Remember him? You named him Humphrey. He meandered around the Delta for a month and nothing you did deterred him. And you banged on the same pots and shot off the same fire hoses this time around. What, did you think using Teflon pots was going to make the difference? Or maybe this year's sticks were pointier. Wait, I got it: these recorded Orca sounds were HD CDs.

Here's another tip: You Don't Speak Humpback. Be careful of your communication attempts. For all you know, the sounds you were making got translated as "Anchovy Bar: Straight Ahead," or "Special Humpback discount on all things Krill!" Or, "Danger, danger. For the sake of the planet, swallow the entire boat in front of you NOW."

I have a theory as to why they returned to sea. Either they were distressed at all the diesel fuel you were wasting exhibiting your extreme concern or they were afraid your concern might turn taxidermic. Does the term "hunting for blubber" have any meaning here? Save the Whales, my ass. They're whales. Save yourself.

Will Durst is a political comic, syndicated columnist, AM radio talk show host and defense liability.

 
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