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Thomson - Gus Openshaws Whale-Killing Journal

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Thomson Gus Openshaws Whale-Killing Journal
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Gus Openshaws Whale-Killing Journal A Novel by Keith Thomson ebook ISBN - photo 1
Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal
A Novel by Keith Thomson
ebook ISBN: 978-1-59692-989-0
M P Publishing Limited
12 Strathallan Crescent
Douglas
Isle of Man
IM2 4NR
via United Kingdom
Telephone: +44 (0)1624 618672
email: info@mp-publishing.com
Originally published by:MacAdam/Cage
155 Sansome Street, Suite 550
San Francisco, CA 94104
www.macadamcage.com

Copyright 2005 by Keith Thomson
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Thomson, Keith
GUS OPENSHAWS WHALE-KILLING JOURNAL.
p. cm.
ISBN 1-59692-172-2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


To Henry.

On June 11, 2004, an Oakland, California, cat food cannery workerbegan keeping an online diary (known as a "web log" - or "blog" for short) to enlist the public's aid in finding the whale he alleged had eaten his wife, infant son and arm. On the following pages, his blog is printed in its entirety.
http://www.blubberybastard.com/blog
Blogger Profile
Name: Gus Openshaw
Age:
Sex: M
Location: At sea
Dating Status: Recently widowed
Likes: Vengeance against the bastard who ate my wife, kid and arm
Dislikes: Filling out forms
Musical Interest:
Books/Magazines:
Movies/TV:
Hobbies:
Gus Openshaw's Whale-Killing Journal
A NOVEL by KEITH THOMSON

Friday, 11 June 2004 3:01 AM
I Got A Fish To Kill

Dont make me relive the details just now. The short of it: A whale ate my wife, kid and right arm. And he got away. For the time being.
Now, there are these Indians in the state of Washington. They have one of those licenses you can getbecause of a special religious dispensation or whateverto kill one whale a year. For probation agreement reasons that I cant get into, I had to get myself one of these licenses before I could go back out on the waterlet alone set a toe on a dockwithout getting shot at by the damn Coast Guard. So I went up to Washington to powwow with those Indians.
Prior to the incident, I worked on the line at a cat food cannery. Literally the worst stinking job you can get. Point is, I was earning just north of squat. But Id married way better than Id deserved. And when she died, I was worthincluding everything from the house to my boxer shorts$515,200.
Oddly, the Indian chief priced the whale-killing license at $515,000, take it or leave it. I took it, gladly. I later learned that my wifes estate lawyer had coincidentally done some legal work for the very same Indians that very same day, for which he got himself a check in the amount of $51,500.
I was too busy readying my boat to care about the lawyer by then. My thoughts were on getting to the neck of the Caribbean where a particularly fat sperm whale had been sighted. Id taken a bus down south and bought an old wooden cabin cruiser from a geezer in Port Helslop, Texas, for $20. (Wood boats are a bitch is why theyre so cheap. It takes a goodcouple hundred hours to scrape and paint the hulls every year. The invention of fiberglass made wood boats asses obsolete. So folks with wood boats they dont use no more are left with this dilemma: Do I keep writing a check for two grand every year to keep this sucker in dry dock, or do I pay some guy twice that much to come over, chain saw my family heirloom apart and haul her off to the dump? So the price for these craft is often zip. Literally. The twenty bucks I paid was for the gas in herand it was a good fifty bucks worth of gas.)
A few days later, a few leagues north of the equator, I upgraded to a sleek, 180-foot, fiberglass-hulled superyacht that came with this laptop computer Im writing on right now plus a wireless modem. Ill get to how I got this stuff next time I do one of these posts. Right now I got to hit the head.

Saturday, 12 June 2004 11:10 PM
For Once, I Get Lucky

The other day, a few leagues shy of hitting the equator, I was dozing at the controls of the cabin cruiser Id gotten in Texas. Id been sitting there like a statue for three straight days. Suddenly I looked up and realized I was about to broadside a 180-foot superyacht.
I grabbed the wheel and spun for all I was worth. Unfortunately, my damn body keeps forgetting that, thanks to the blubbery bastard, I got no right arm no more. So I wasnt worth much. It was enough though to swerve just in time to miss burrowing through the superyachts stern.
I got to thinking that it was odd that the yacht hadnt so much as honked at me. No one seemed to be aboard. It was doubtful everyone on a boat that bigd be below deck at one time. None of her lifeboats had been lowered. There was a copter still on the helipad. No swimmers were in the water around her. It seemed she was empty and adrift.
Curious as much as anything, I flung a line from the cabin cruiser up to her stern and climbed aboard. My panting from the two-story climb (forgot again that Ive only got one damn arm) was the only sound on the whole craft.
I nosed around. Most of the staterooms had peoples clothes and stuff in them. Nice clothes and nice stuff. Dinner for a dozen or sothree-day-old steak and flat-as-my-fourth-grade- girlfriend champagnewas sitting untouched on the dining table on the foredeck. A bunch of clothes were splayed out on the quarterdeck. Weird as crap, huh?
Heres what I think happened: Theres an old maritime tradition that when you cross the equator on a new brig, everyonepassengers, crew, chef, chihuahuas, whoeverjumps into the sea. My guess was that this champagned-up bunch mustve stripped down on the quarterdeck and hopped over the rail without realizing they had no way to re-board. There were no ladders. These sleek superyachts oftentimes dont have them (itd make them less sleek, I suppose), and the hulls are too sheer to climb up unless youve got suction cups tied up and down your limbs. More than likely, everybody drowned. Poor bastards, I thought. Truth is, though, I always feel a bit better on the few occasions people are stupider or have worse luck than me.
Theres another old maritime tradition. It goes something like, Lost at sea, belongs to me. It basically means if youre enough of an idiot to lose your brig, you dont deserve her, and whoevers the finder is the rightful keeper. I doubt that itd stand up in court. And if it gets even within a whiff of a court, Ill probably take the rap for the missing passengers and crew. But Ive got bigger fish to kill. With that in mind I cut loose the SS Piece of Crap (my cabin cruiser), which at that point was only afloat cause the termites were holding hands, and took the helm of my new superyacht. Unlike the cabin cruiser, shell be able to keep pace with the bastard (sperm whales can do 30 miles an hour). Then turn him into cold cuts.
I anchored her off St. Kitts. I motored ashore in a lifeboat and pawned a bunch of Rolexes and stuff like that Id found aboard the superyacht. Netted $44,500 in cash.
I then went to a seamens bar and tried to hire some crew. Found a couple older guys with harpoon experience. Best I could get otherwise was a couple drug addicts who might wellhave waited around the rest of their lives without getting another berth. When you go into a fish-stinking seamens bar on a small island and offer cash for a whaling job of uncertain duration on a boat you wont name, the best and the brightest sailors dont usually line up with their rsums.

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