April 25: The White Whale, Gossip, Golden Showers, Small Penis

I, Ishmael, was one of that crew; my shouts had gone up with the rest; my oath had been welded with theirs; and stronger I shouted, and more did I hammer and clinch my oath, because of the dread in my soul. A wild, mystical, sympathetical feeling was in me; Ahab's quenchless feud seemed mine. With greedy ears I learned the history of that murderous monster against whom I and all the others had taken our oaths of violence and revenge.

For some time past, though at intervals only, the unaccompanied, secluded White Whale had haunted those uncivilized seas mostly frequented by the Sperm Whale fishermen. But not all of them knew of his existence; a few of them, comparatively, had knowingly seen him; while the number who as yet had actually and knowingly given battle to him, was small indeed. For, owing to the large number of whale-cruisers; the disorderly way they were sprinkled over the entire watery circumference, many of them adventurously pushing their quest along solitary latitudes, so as seldom or never for a whole twelvemonth or more on a stretch, to encounter a single news-telling sail of any sort; the inordinate length of each separate voyage; the irregularity of the times of sailing from home; all these, with other circumstances, direct and indirect, long obstructed the spread through the whole world-wide whaling-fleet of the special individualizing tidings concerning Moby Dick. It was hardly to be doubted, that several vessels reported to have encountered, at such or such a time, or on such or such a meridian, a Sperm Whale of uncommon magnitude and malignity, which whale, after doing great mischief to his assailants, has completely escaped them; to some minds it was not an unfair presumption, I say, that the whale in question must have been no other than Moby Dick. Yet as of late the Sperm Whale fishery had been marked by various and not unfrequent instances of great ferocity, cunning, and malice in the monster attacked; therefore it was, that those who by accident ignorantly gave battle to Moby Dick; such hunters, perhaps, for the most part, were content to ascribe the peculiar terror he bred, more, as it were, to the perils of the Sperm Whale fishery at large, than to the individual cause. In that way, mostly, the disastrous encounter between Ahab and the whale had hitherto been popularly regarded.

And as for those who, previously hearing of the White Whale, by chance caught sight of him; in the beginning of the thing they had every one of them, almost, as boldly and fearlessly lowered for him, as for any other whale of that species. But at length, such calamities did ensue in these assaults- not restricted to sprained wrists and ankles, broken limbs, or devouring amputations- but fatal to the last degree of fatality; those repeated disastrous repulses, all accumulating and piling their terrors upon Moby Dick; those things had gone far to shake the fortitude of many brave hunters, to whom the story of the White Whale had eventually come.

Ah, the power of rumors and tall tales.  An albino sperm whale can be transformed into a ferocious demon, chewing on the boats (and legs) of innocent sailors.  Ishmael falls under the spell of Ahab's epic yarn of revenge, as well.  I don't think I exaggerate if I refer to it as blood thirst.  It's primal.  Ancient.  It's the story of Cain and Abel.  Odysseus when he returns to Ithaca.  Jehovah when he drowns the world.

This post is not going to be about the evil of gossiping.  I'm just as bad as the next person when it comes to a juicy tall tale.  I don't buy The National Enquirer, but I have been know to pick it up and page through it at the checkout at Walmart.  Yes, my ape mind tells me, I DO need to know the secret sex dungeon kept at Buckingham Palace by Prince Charles.  And, OH YES!, I have to find out in which South American country Adolf Hitler lived in after he fled the bunker in Germany with Eva.

Rumor and gossip feed a certain aspect of the human psyche.  It's not a high level aspect.  No.  This aspect dwells in the lower reaches of the brain, along with addictions to porn or prescription pain medication.  Everyone knows these things are bad for a person.  Yet, it feels so GOOD to indulge these impulses.

I'm sure that I've started some unfounded gossip in my lifetime, intentionally and unintentionally.  I'm human.  For example, I'm not above using the story of Donald Trump and the peeing Russian prostitutes as evidence to impeach him.  I have not seen photographic or video evidence of this encounter.  I have no real proof that it actually happened.  Yet, it gives me undue pleasure to initiate a Trump supporter into the details of the narrative.

I don't think spreading this gossip makes me a horrible person.  Certainly, it makes me catty.  Maybe it diminishes my credibility.  However, right around the end of the 2016 Presidential Election, there were rumors about Hillary Clinton running a sex slave trade of young children.  That gossip prompted a man to bring an assault rifle into a Washington pizzeria and start shooting.  Nobody was hurt, thank God.

The rumors I prefer (like Mr. Trump's golden shower fetish) have never driven anybody to commit a violent felony.  Not yet, at least.  I certainly don't spread rumors with malicious intent.  It's more for entertainment . . . at another person's expense.

Okay, I guess I'm not helping my case here.  I think I better cut my losses with this post and end it before I start talking about Donald Trump's small penis or penchant for underage girls.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for self restraint (of which he obviously has very little).