We spend all day chasing the White Whale. Each time we catch up with it, it eats many of our men. As dusk falls, we finally manage to corner it with the help of some friendly belugas. When we remove it from the water, I remark that it resembles a Xerox machine more than a whale. Indeed, it soon begins making copies.
We are about to drive the final spear into the whale, when I stop the crew. “The whale is weak now,” I say. “What if we just turned it into an exhibit and let it snooze?”
But Chester would have none of my mercy. “We can’t take the risk,” he says as he stabs it in the paper tray.
* * * *
I meet a girl who was raised by the whales. “I am 21,” she says. “I lived with the whales from the time I was 6 to the day I turned 20.” She is shy, as one might expect from a girl raised by whales.
She sits on my lap, and we discuss life and whales. But there is something off about her story. “How did you sleep in the ocean?” I ask her.
“Oh, I would sleep inside a hippopotamus,” she said. At this, I know she is lying. Everyone knows that hippopotamuses are very dangerous. Disgusted by this betrayal, I buck her from my lap and she falls to the sand.
As if on cue, two hippos trot past us and frown.
* * * *
The waiter is singing us a song about why we should donate to the Servers’ Union. As he reaches his second chorus, however, a tidal wave engulfs the restaurant. As I am pulled beneath the water, I am relieved that I did not have to suffer the awkwardness of declining to donate to the Server’s Union after he had gone to the trouble of singing us a song.
[Note: I regularly experience dreams that consist simply of being engulfed by tsunamis. I do not note down each of these here, because they are repetitive and lacking in plot. However, I felt this particular incarnation of the tsunami-dream was exceptional enough to share.]