A 125,000 pound beached whale was discovered, today, in a basement rec room in a Sea Bright, New Jersey home.

The home’s owner, Mr. Josh Ornry, knew something was amiss last week, went he tried to enter the basement but was blocked by the massive whale carcass. “At first, I thought it was a prank,” he said. “We have pretty obnoxious children around here who like to knock over our garden gnomes and flamingos. Usually, firing a shotgun over their heads keeps them off our front lawn. I figured that this was just payback.”

When asked how a group of kids could have hauled a 125,000-pound whale carcass into his basement, he shrugged. “Maybe they lured it onshore using peanut butter sandwiches.”

Local police officer Riley Muldoon didn’t quite buy into the prank angle. “We blame climate change,” he opined. “With the heating of the Atlantic Ocean, many whales are wandering off from their migratory patterns. The oceans are in turmoil. Many species of fish are actually colliding with one another. I mean, big bounces. They spiral anywhere and everywhere. It’s chaos.

“I figure the whale was heading south in the Atlantic, got confused, and hung a hard left to Sea Bright.”

When asked how the Leviathan, some fifty feet in length, managed to traverse a solid mile and a half on dry land and make it into the Ornry’s basement, Muldoon answered, “He must have built up a lot of steam in the ocean, the momentum carrying him onto dry land. It probably undulated, like a big worm. It must have sought shelter as it became confused. I’m betting this home’s garage door was open and he just ducked inside, winding up in the cellar.”


When told that his theory was absolutely ridiculous, the officer nodded, “It was either that or he hijacked a car.”

WWN approached the matron of the house, Lizbeth Ornry, who seemed quite confused. “My goodness,” she said. “It’s just a whale. We have whales all around here. If the government wants to do something to help us, they should wipe out the mosquitos.”

By now, a large crowd of curious neighbors and seagulls had surrounded the house. An ambulance pulled up, its attendants wheeling out a stretcher and a body bag. Muldoon advised them to return to the hospital, call twenty people who owned buzz saws and rent a dozen refrigerated trucks. They nodded and departed.

“I hate climate change,” Muldoon muttered. “Last month, we found a swordfish in a public commode.”

At that point, a siren screamed and the crowd parted to make way for a black town car edging its way up to the house. Several of the crowd squawked and crapped on the car’s windshield; some were birds.

Muldoon was transfixed. “It’s a country honcho. The Chief of Law & Order: The Special Brine Unit”


We watched as a short, squat man charged out of the car, chomping on a half-lit cigar. Several in the crowd started sneezing. “Your cigar offends me!” called one lad. The squat man gave him a stank-eye. “And your presence on this planet makes me question my belief in God.”

He was accompanied by two detectives, Eames and Goren, who he sent into the home.

He marched up to us, extending a gloved hand. “Call me Ishmael,” he smiled. Everyone bumped elbows. We clued Chief Neil Ishmael as to what had occurred. Taking charge, he ordered that we and the Ornrys join him around the whale after his detectives were through. A dwarf followed him inside the house carrying two large cases of something.

After giving Ishmael and his team fifteen minutes with the corpse, we entered. The dwarf was hard at work at a chemical lab. Ishmael smiled at us. “This was no migratory malfunction! This was not caused by climate change. This…was…murder.”


We gasped for various reasons, the leading factor being the stench of the whale. The dwarf handed Ishmael a clipboard of notes and several chemical slides. Ishmael smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, our victim Physeter Macrocephalus, or sperm whale, was singled out and killed by a hit and run driver. The driver knew our whale’s migratory pattern. He’d watched it relentlessly, year after year. This year, the whale beached itself and our killer got into his vehicle and slammed into our innocent victim. Not only did he hit the whale once, he backed up and continuously rammed the whale until it died. Then, he moved the body into the home via a full crew of non-union workers.”

He then went on to produce slides and texts showing the number of car paint smudges on the whale, identifying the color of the vehicle. The waffle-like tire treads all over the animal. They identified the type of tire. Then, both the car-license plate print and the face print of the killer embedded in the postmortem ejaculation of the sperm whale identified both the identity of the car and its murderous driver.

“There were also several stab wounds made by a Boy Scout knife,” Ishmael continued, “They were post-mortem. In fact, they betrayed the impotence of the killer. Why inflict wounds when the victim was already dead? Because it was a crime of passion!”


Chief Israel pointed a finger into the small group. “Now, as for the identity of the killer?” His finger honed in on Muldoon. “Take Officer Muldoon away!” he declared. “Or should I say Officer Ahab?”

Muldoon flinched.

“You didn’t think the Special Brine Unit wouldn’t be on to you and your ancestry searches? Once you found you were a descendant of the original Captain Ahab you began a career as a serial fish killer! Garroted gold fish! Tortured trout! Clobbered Carp! Filet of Flounder! What did you ever think you’d do if you’d gotten away with this?”

Muldoon frowned. “I was hoping I’d be able to continue my psychopathic behavior and enter politics.”

Muldoon sank down on his knees and began to sob.

Ishmael smirked down at the man, pulling him up. “It’s a little late to be blubbering, now.”

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