Call me Ishmael

It will be seen that this mere painstaking burrower and grub-worm of a poor devil of a Sub-Sub appears to have gone through the long Vaticans and street-stalls of the earth, picking up whatever random allusions to whales he could anyways find in any book whatsoever, sacred or profane. Therefore you must not, in every case at least, take the higgledy-piggledy whale statements, however authentic, in these extracts, for veritable gospel cetology. Far from it. As touching the ancient authors generally, as well as the poets here appearing, these extracts are solely valuable or entertaining, as affording a glancing bird's eye view of what has been promiscuously said, thought, fancied, and sung of Leviathan, by many nations and generations, including our own.

At last I had a few moments to spend with Osprey and Enjah. Our sparkling conversation soon descended to a dank discussion of shellfish, smoked carp and arthropods, for Enjah was on her way out to consume a dinner of raw fish. Osprey remarked she had eaten raw whale (or was it Enjah? I was preoccupied with maintaining my spiritual balance atop a unicycle) and before long came up with a poorly considered plan to ride one into the night. We managed to stay astride for a while but soon found ourselves wallowing upon the entry way to the creature's digestive tract. Exploring we found an ingress but no egress, which must be a relief for the poor residents who seem doomed to clean up after the whale passes overhead. I suspect the strain is the reason for the founding of the Fight Club nearby.
Yes, that is a pot of petunias off port bow. No, I do not know the reason for them.