Judge For Yourself

Was the Pequod a den of sin?

Edwin Yoder says “No.”–“Melville has been overserved of late by those who see veiled homosexuality in practically any scene of 19th-century male bonding.”

Your dear Aunt wonders. Ishmael, tell us how you spent your favorite days aboard the ship:

Squeeze! squeeze! squeeze! all the morning long; I squeezed that sperm till I myself almost melted into it; I squeezed that sperm till a strange sort of insanity came over me; and I found myself unwittingly squeezing my co-laborers’ hands in it, mistaking their hands for the gentle globules. Such an abounding, affectionate, friendly, loving feeling did this avocation beget; that at last I was continually squeezing their hands, and looking up into their eyes sentimentally; as much as to say,- Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

Now, Ishmael, certainly that just sounds kinky to our 21st century ears. What happens after the sperm squeezing?

Had you stepped on board the Pequod at a certain juncture of this post-mortemizing of the whale; and had you strolled forward nigh the windlass, pretty sure am I that you would have scanned with no small curiosity a very strange, enigmatical object, which you would have seen there, lying along lengthwise in the lee scuppers. Not the wondrous cistern in the whale’s huge head; not the prodigy of his unhinged lower jaw; not the miracle of his symmetrical tail; none of these would so surprise you, as half a glimpse of that unaccountable cone,- longer than a Kentuckian is tall, nigh a foot in diameter at the base, and jet-black as Yojo, the ebony idol of Queequeg. And an idol, indeed, it is; or rather, in old times, its likeness was. Such an idol as that found in the secret groves of Queen Maachah in Judea; and for worshipping which, King Asa, her son, did depose her, and destroyed the idol, and burnt it for an abomination at the brook Kedron, as darkly set forth in the 15th chapter of the First Book of Kings.

Look at the sailor, called the mincer, who now comes along, and assisted by two allies, heavily backs the grandissimus, as the mariners call it, and with bowed shoulders, staggers off with it as if he were a grenadier carrying a dead comrade from the field. Extending it upon the forecastle deck, he now proceeds cylindrically to remove its dark pelt, as an African hunter the pelt of a boa. This done he turns the pelt inside out, like a pantaloon leg; gives it a good stretching, so as almost to double its diameter; and at last hangs it, well spread, in the rigging, to dry. Ere long, it is taken down; when removing some three feet of it, towards the pointed extremity, and then cutting two slits for arm-holes at the other end, he lengthwise slips himself bodily into it. The mincer now stands before you invested in the full canonicals of his calling. Immemorial to all his order, this investiture alone will adequately protect him, while employed in the peculiar functions of his office.

Sperm squeezing, penis wearing… I just keep thinking that if any fundamentalist Christian had bothered to read Moby Dick, no high schooler would be allowed to touch it.


The Place that Makes My Soul Happy

Thanks to Brittney over at Nashville is Talking for drawing my attention to these awesome posters.

This one, though, makes my whole day. This is where Mrs. Wigglebottom and I spend at least an hour almost every weekend. Those are the rocks she pees on. Those are the trees we walk through on our way back to the car, which is parked, almost always, in the shade of the big yellow trees on the right.

I trust you can all see why that place refreshes me every time I go there. I also trust that you will continue to stay away from that side of the park. I appreciate you leaving it to me, Mrs. Wigglebottom, and the bikers*.

*No, not the fun kind.

LuckyBuzz Steals My Heart with the Most Awesome Meme Ever

LuckyBuzz says:

I love this meme so much I can’t even stand it. I love this meme so much I want to whisk it away to Vegas for the weekend. I love this meme so much I want to feed it blueberries in bed on a snowy morning.

And LuckyBuzz is right. What I am about to hit you with is indeed the best meme ever (I guess, if your readers aren’t unimaginative jackasses… If they are, then, whoa boy does this suck.).

I’ll let Ms. Q, who seems to have invented it, explain:

Whether you know me or not, even if you have never been here before, make up a fake memory of us. That is, post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want – good or bad – but it has to be fake.

Y’all. Do you not see how awesome that is? Do you not know me well enough by now to see how I’d think that this is practically Christmas morning in a meme? I love it. I want you to try it.

So, go ahead. Delight me.