Blue Whales

Not unlike my fellow six billion brethren, I've always had that singular aspiration. No, my ambitions never ran as high as ruling the world or walking on the moon ("giant steps are what you take . . ."). No, my fellow readers, my aspiration was to write a novel. Dare I say, the great American novel.

After 29 years of godblessed existence, here's what I have so far:

"Diego remembered the day the last of the Blue Whales died. He read about it on page 7 of the New York Times. Apparently, a pack of Orcas had killed it. It was the ocean equivalent of an African elephant being mauled by a pack of wolves. How novel, Diego thought."

Cela est tout. 5 sentences. I have no clue why the protagonist is named Diego given that this is supposed to be the great AMERICAN novel. Also, I thought it rather odd that Blue whales go extinct via the circle of life rather than by a harpooner's hand. Perhaps this illustrates my faith that mankind, despite its current rate of "progress," will not be involved in causing ALL future extinctions and ecological failures.

On a different note: help control the pet population; have your pets spayed or neutered. We miss you, Bob.