Humphrey was a whale.

Humphrey was a whale.

A blue whale. Then Moby swam into view. "Of all the oceans in the world, why did he have to swim into mine?" lamented Humphrey. Moby belched. His indigestion from swallowing Ahab

did not help him attract the lady whales. He also had some terrible whale pick up lines. Moby couldn't help himself he'd just always seem to mention their weight. Lady whales were

very sensitive about being undeweight. Moby always stuck his fin in his mouth with them. He always managed to same something about how thin they were. Moby sent away for some books

to keep himself distracted from his body dysmorphic syndrome, but it was simply an evasion. Moby kept eating and eating, exacerbating his weight problem, which only compounded his

feeling like a dick. He knew better, but it wasn't until he visited with a nutritionist did Moby realize he was eating in an attempt to fulfill a different kind of hunger. Moby

thought he could go for some beef, or veal, or bear, then he pressed his massive brow into a coral reef. Moby was drowning in a sea of unrequited and nonspecific desire, an oc

Casional ritual when he was writing new music. Moby visualised his music before putting anything down on paper. He preferred paper from hotels and often titled songs after places

in the Icelandic sagas, part and parcel of his obsessive with mythic toponymy that was always dismissed as naïve by the artistic cliques of the period. Moby, however, would reply

in whalesong, rendering the whole argument moot by proxy of the only people who seem to understand whalesong these days are whales.