I was driving my daughter -- who was dressed as a bumble bee, complete with stinger-- to school when Boris Karloff's Monster Mash came on the radio. For some reason I was reminded of a story submission by our erstwhile Science Scribe that I had shelved last week without so much as reading. Thinking, "Oh what the hell, it's Halloween," I am releasing it at this time.
STINGRAY STORY by the Science Scribe.
Ponte Haute, Lake Michigan, October 23, 2006
The winds on this inland sea are blowing out of the northwest; a sure sign that Fall, if not the GOP, is in full surrender.
We are here on assignment to study one of the great mysteries of our time: why the peace-loving stingray has decided to turn on humans.
With two new stingray attacks since Jeff Irwin's fatal encounter -- after centuries of lying near-dormant on the ocean floor, minding its own business -- it's clear that we are experiencing the opening volleys of a Worldwide Invasion of the Stingrays.
In the latest (Oct. 19) attack, a spotted eagle stingray leapt into a boat at Lighthouse Point Florida and harpooned James Bertakis in the chest, to the horror of his granddaughter and a friend. He is in critical condition with the barb still in his heart.
Another man, Joe Mcknight, barely survived a stingray attack after being stabbed in the leg on Okiwi Bay in Australia while diving for crayfish. Mr. Mcknight had inadvertently thrown himself on the barbie.
"My friend said, 'Mate, you're going to the hospital.' I felt quite embarrassed," said the Aussie, who had remembered reading about the American tourist, Chazz Marshall, who had been bitten by a stingray while snorkeling for mussels in Abel Tasman National Park back in 2002.
So here we are, 12 miles off Ponte Haute Michigan in 40 fathoms of water, and I am about to dive into these icy waters to see if I can't unravel the mystery surrounding these strange and worrisome stingray attacks.
PNN, having cut off my retainer, has forced me to dive without gloves or flashlight, reducing my sorry ass to feeling it's way through the murky darkness. I come upon an old pie plate, and nearly jump out of my wetsuit. I hate it when that happens.
I feel large, tentacled, aqua-creatures brushing against my legs, but without any light source, I can only guess as to their nature, or intentions. I sense that eels are prairie-dogging out of their lairs sifting the water for my scent. Improperly insulated, I must pee in my wetsuit to keep from becoming hypothermic.
Meanwhile, topside, my crew works without pay in what amounts to a overgrown rowboat, pumping an old bicycle pump that is delivering air to my divers-bell helmet. Without air, I can only survive for a short time before becoming an integral part of Lake Michigan.
In my seclusion, I start thinking about asking PNN's editor for more money. My $600 advance had run out before I had even left the airport, and now I am facing a lonely death without having found the object of my search, the spotted stingray.
Are all publications this cheap? I think, when suddenly, before me, I see....
PNN Interrupts This Transmission: "Cut. Cut. Enough of this nonsense. On behalf of the Science Scribe, I apologize to each and every PNN reader for this ugly, self-serving piece of journalistic junk. With the midterm elections approaching, the electorate is far too busy watching attack ads to indulge our sorry, and soon to be unemployed, Science Scribe.
-ed
STINGRAY STORY by the Science Scribe.
Ponte Haute, Lake Michigan, October 23, 2006
The winds on this inland sea are blowing out of the northwest; a sure sign that Fall, if not the GOP, is in full surrender.
We are here on assignment to study one of the great mysteries of our time: why the peace-loving stingray has decided to turn on humans.
With two new stingray attacks since Jeff Irwin's fatal encounter -- after centuries of lying near-dormant on the ocean floor, minding its own business -- it's clear that we are experiencing the opening volleys of a Worldwide Invasion of the Stingrays.
In the latest (Oct. 19) attack, a spotted eagle stingray leapt into a boat at Lighthouse Point Florida and harpooned James Bertakis in the chest, to the horror of his granddaughter and a friend. He is in critical condition with the barb still in his heart.
Another man, Joe Mcknight, barely survived a stingray attack after being stabbed in the leg on Okiwi Bay in Australia while diving for crayfish. Mr. Mcknight had inadvertently thrown himself on the barbie.
"My friend said, 'Mate, you're going to the hospital.' I felt quite embarrassed," said the Aussie, who had remembered reading about the American tourist, Chazz Marshall, who had been bitten by a stingray while snorkeling for mussels in Abel Tasman National Park back in 2002.
So here we are, 12 miles off Ponte Haute Michigan in 40 fathoms of water, and I am about to dive into these icy waters to see if I can't unravel the mystery surrounding these strange and worrisome stingray attacks.
PNN, having cut off my retainer, has forced me to dive without gloves or flashlight, reducing my sorry ass to feeling it's way through the murky darkness. I come upon an old pie plate, and nearly jump out of my wetsuit. I hate it when that happens.
I feel large, tentacled, aqua-creatures brushing against my legs, but without any light source, I can only guess as to their nature, or intentions. I sense that eels are prairie-dogging out of their lairs sifting the water for my scent. Improperly insulated, I must pee in my wetsuit to keep from becoming hypothermic.
Meanwhile, topside, my crew works without pay in what amounts to a overgrown rowboat, pumping an old bicycle pump that is delivering air to my divers-bell helmet. Without air, I can only survive for a short time before becoming an integral part of Lake Michigan.
In my seclusion, I start thinking about asking PNN's editor for more money. My $600 advance had run out before I had even left the airport, and now I am facing a lonely death without having found the object of my search, the spotted stingray.
Are all publications this cheap? I think, when suddenly, before me, I see....
PNN Interrupts This Transmission: "Cut. Cut. Enough of this nonsense. On behalf of the Science Scribe, I apologize to each and every PNN reader for this ugly, self-serving piece of journalistic junk. With the midterm elections approaching, the electorate is far too busy watching attack ads to indulge our sorry, and soon to be unemployed, Science Scribe.
-ed
posted by R. Reynolds at 10:12 AM
17 Comments:
Your stinging rebuke to the Scribe, the barbed comments you hurl at him, are so vitriolic. What's the manta with you? Have you no heart (with or without barb)? Science Scribe is a ray of light in these dark times, yet you do little but cast aspersions on his skills. (And his skull.)
You bounder, you cad, you big 'eel -- I say we should cheer him on: Hip hip moray!
r
Well said r. I have heard rumors about the Assistant Science Scribe (and know of his energy affiliations) and surly would mourn the day he were elevated. I say let the SS survive and keep the ASS at bay. Same goes for the White House. --USCE
I happened to click on the "advertisement on today's blog, "Why is Mommy a Democrat" and can't wait to get my copy! --USCE
The Science Scribe makes far more sense than his idiot boss. The poor scientist told me before he left that had to hold onto a large rock in order to descend-- all for want of flippers. If PNN's cheap editor had an ounce of compassion, he'd tell his SS that the stingrays are all in Lake Eerie.
I like science guy. you leave him alone.
It was Boris "Bobby" Pickett. Sic transit gloria mundi.
The Science Scribe may not have alot upstairs, but I admire his curiosity. Except for the curiosity, Bush is just like him.
just bilbo being cryptic. put a few more nails in his GOP coffin.
Hey, bilbo is the only intelligent respondent on this blog.
PNN isn't about intelligence. It's about, well - it's really a, you know, it's sort of like, whatever. I read it every day, but that's not the part of myself that I like.
that's the only part of you I like.
Hey, I live in Ponte Haute Michigan, and there aint no stingrays here. The sharks scared them away.
Sharks? I'm worried about the Scribe. First he blew his Caribbean airfare on food at the airport. Next he's missing in action on Lake Michigan. This does not bode well for PNN.
he's too dumb to be eaten.
did anyone contact the boat captain?
boat captain? it was a fucking rowboat.
Based on your comment, Stainmaster, I'd have to say that there at least two intelligent respondents to this blog.
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