[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Thursday, April 8th, 2004|
|'Tis the season of our discontent.
Well, to put it into perspective, every season is a season of discontent for this cowcod, last of its kind on this benighted chunk of carbonate.
Mating season is long over, and my testes, fain optimistic to the last, have thrown in the towel. Thus, I have spent a perfectly delightful several weeks busily resorbing my sperm. I'm getting quite good at it, thank you very much, this being the 9th straight year of this activity.
I mean what is the point? It's all quite appalling. And to have about 2 million concupiscent squarespot rockfish around one, all squealing "Hubba, Hubba" at each other, while one is resorbing one's sperm for lack of opportunity, just makes it all the more appalling.
But, never letting it be said that I am not in keeping with the times. I have composed the complete list of sex tips for cowcod - to whit and below.
Oh, Momma. The Two Hottest Cowcod Sex Tips
1) Find a reef that has another adult cowcod on it.
2) Find a reef that has another adult cowcod on it of the opposite sex.
|Tuesday, June 24th, 2003|
Boredom has taken on a whole new meaning. Such is my fate that I am reduced to conversing with invertebrates. And not just any invertebrate. Oh no, not for me the at least somewhat rarified rhetoric of the octopus or the glitzy, kitschy perambulations of the spot prawn. No, today circumstances forced me to endure the company of the rather bilious seastar that occupies the ceiling of my cave.
But for the calcareous ossicles in its exoskeleton, I would have eaten it long ago out of spite alone.
But it was not to be and so I found myself holding court with an animal lacking a brain, or even a fused ganglia that might masquerade as one. Yes, listening to the opaque maunderings of a creature within which resides but a diffuse nerve ring is a sponge of a different color, indeed.
Alright, I must admit to a certain fascination with this tubefooted individual as he spun yet another tale about the so-called "Dry World." This is a fabulous place, if the seastar is to believed, where creatures actually exist without being immersed in water. And some of these creatures are said to have the ability to enter our world and draw us into theirs. Well, this is clearly an impossibility, but it is a story that does afford a rather simple and harmless modicum of entertainment. And, if I might dip into superstition for just a moment, it does explain in a rather perverse way why there are so few of us left on this reef. Perhaps that is the reason I don't eat the seastar.
|Monday, December 16th, 2002|
If possible, a new low. Last week tried to pick up a female bocaccio
! I was, I admit, absolutely desperate. I was starting to resorb all of the sperm I had produced, and you know what that
feels like. Saw her lurking, potbellied with that incredibly sexy underslung jaw, near a sponge, swam up and, without even thinking about it, blurted out "Are your ovaries filled with eggs or are you just happy to see me?" Could have died
, simply died from embarrassment, stuck head in cave and did not come out for 6 days.
|Saturday, December 7th, 2002|
Something happened, but I didn’t like it. There was a very strong current and all of the squarespot and pygmy rockfishes hid under rocks and I was reduced to eating krill
, which always
gives me gas.
|Friday, December 6th, 2002|
|Thursday, December 5th, 2002|
Nothing happened, because I live on a bloody underwater desert island with almost no other cowcod and about four hundred million mindless, nattering, twittering dwarf rockfishes, all of them going on about "Oh, wasn’t that a particularly tasty aggregation of copepods we just ate!" and "Oh, isn’t the water just too warm today?"
|Wednesday, December 4th, 2002|
|Tuesday, December 3rd, 2002|
|Monday, December 2nd, 2002|
70th birthday. A depressing day. Realized that there are only 3 of us left on this bloody outcrop and we are all males
. Well, I understand that as a top
predator, an apex
predator if you like, there can’t be millions of us on this rock, but for heaven’s sake I don’t think that 3 damn males on a damn rock qualifies as an exciting example of the Grand Design
. Won’t go into the reason there are only 3 of us left here, but it rhymes with "ishermen". Became quite melancholic, ate too many squarespot rockfish and did not feel better for it.