The absurd adventures of Whalebone Jim #1

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic


This is the story of Whalebone Jim, a man who lives in a little Mexican drinking village with a fishing problem. Read on and follow him through a series of short stories.

Submitted: April 25, 2018

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Submitted: April 25, 2018

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Whalebone Jim woke up with the familiar foul taste in his mouth. The room was dim and there was the stench of old, unwashed garments, spilled beer and two fermented mangoes, which had been on the kitchen counter for too long, attracting colonies of fruit flies. Whalebone hoisted himself up from his stained mattress and stumbled over to the fridge. He opened the fridge door and got hit by an odor resembling the breath of a homeless dude. Since there was nothing in it worth eating, he slammed the door shut and grunted:

"Nothing better than liquid breakfast. Time for a trip to the liquor store!'

He was one of those gringos, who had left the US after having lost several lucrative businesses, due to his rebellious personality in conjunction with a compulsive desire to be inebriated. He resented the US government for encroaching on his freedom, especially his freedom to handle firearms, which was another fetish of his, besides slamming liquor. Mexico seemed just anarchistic enough for him to settle in a little drinking village with a fishing problem.

He scratched his rump, put on his Hawaiian shirt, shorts and cowboy hat, grabbed his backpack and sunshades, and opened the door to the harsh ouside reality.

On the way to the store he passed by the car repair shop, owned by Eduardo, a shady character who was known to deal cocaine. Whalebone tipped his hat greeting Eduardo, who was in a conversation with two local police officers, whom he had cultivated good relations with, as it is customary and important for people who are in the Mexican substance business. Whalebone continued his pilgrimage to the liquor store to grab a six pack, and walked to the beach, just five minutes down the dusty road.

He sat down by the water and slammed down the first two cans of beer in no time. As he opened his third he noticed a skinny character, resembling a rodent-like creature, who had arrived and was dragging a kayak out of his van and onto the beach. Then he started to bring various technical devices down to his Kayak. Whalebone started to wonder what this was all about.

He yelled at the skinny guy: " Hey man, what ya doing?"

The skinny one approached awkwardly. He had a finely clipped, brissely mustache, and his shoulder long, grayish hair stood up from the back of his head in a fourtyfive degree angle, like a sloped roof top. His movements were animated and yet he seemed uncomfortable in his body.

"I am taking readings of the ocean and the sea weed with my Geiger-counter. My Geiger-counter is very accurate. We are being radiated...it is everywhere...radiation from Fukushima. I left California...you should have seen the readings I took there on the coast...over the top...unacceptable. According to my research it is better here in Mexico, especially the Sea Of Cortez, but I have to make sure...it is crucial to know. They are poisoning us from the sky too...they are spraying us with Aluminum, Barium and who knows what else. My name is Clarence by the way."

Whalebone took another gulp from his beer can:"I am Jim and I am a damn redneck. I know nothing about environmentalism and all that...but ya know, when the civil war starts in America, I will go and get my guns and sneak back in over the border....just like a Mexican...and then I'm gonna get those sons of bitches and I will get back what's mine!"

Clarence ignored what Whalebone said and continued his monologue about global contamination. He was a comulsive talker. His mustache seemed to bristle upwards as he talked even more passionately about the necessity to find a refuge...maybe to find a place in Costa Rica to grow bamboo, which according to him would built houses that could withstand the coming super hurricanes and tidal waves. He had no regard whether the audience was interested in his barrage of words, which were meant to be of educational value, but resembled more the paranoid rant of a methamphetamin user.

Whalebone emptied his last can of beer. "I have to get another six pack...take it easy man."

He swayed as he stood up and almost fell backwards. His mind was starting to get into gear for another day in the sweltering summer heat. He tipped his hat to Clarence and walked off on the dusty road.


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