Dolphins think that they're hip, that they know all the angles. The truth is — they haven't got a clue. (Safaritravelplus/Wikimedia Commons/Creative Commons License)
Satirical opinion by Jonas Polsky, Odd News Show
Just another day in Ocean City.
An octopus tied his tentacles into a noose and hanged himself. A crazy sea lion hijacked a bus and hit a tortoise, turning him into a puddle of turtle soup – extra-chunky. A stingray with a head full of bad acid jumped off of a twelve-story building and landed on a homeless platypus. The stingray survived – the platypus wasn’t so lucky.
Ocean City is always making a mess of itself – and it’s my job to scrub the aquarium.
It’s 5am, and I’m responding to a call about a dead dolphin on the beach. I pull back the tarp and see the vic – as advertised. Multiple gunshot wounds, no ID, and totally naked. When I think about all the dolphins that wind up like this, it makes my stomach turn.
“Who did this to ya, sweetheart?” I mutter, barely audible above the crashing waves.
I spot some crystals around the dolphin’s blowhole and give it a quick swab. Cocaine, no surprise there. Just another coked-up dolphin hoping to make a splash in the big city. Must’ve been a great time – until it wasn’t.
A dolphin trying to escape their fate, but secretly knowing that it's all in vain. (Victoria White2010/Flickr/Creative Commons License)
All kinds of aquatic life washes up in Ocean City. They hear the tales of fame and glamor, and they fall for it every time – hook, line, and sinker. They take a few laps in the pool, and before long, they find themselves in the deep end.
It’s tragic to see a dolphin so young wind up like this. Cute little bottlenose – nice pair of fins, too. Must’ve gotten mixed up with the wrong school of fish. That’s the funny thing about this city: you think you’re riding high on a wave until you realize that you’ve just been circling the drain.
This town will turn you into sushi if you let it.
A young, impressionable dolphin will fall for a clam in the Clamellini Family, or a tuna in the Pescado Cartel. A mafioso lobster gets their claws into them, and before they know it, they’re on the wrong end of a pistol. Ocean City is a big place, and dolphins are always disappearing here or there. People like to think, “Hey, maybe they had a change of heart and swam back home…” but they all know the truth.
This anonymous dolphin investigation is going nowhere, so I start fishing for clues. I could check dental records and see if there’s a match, but the fact of the matter is that most dolphins have never been to a dentist, nor do they have a concept of what dentistry is. The sun’s about to come up, and with no clues and no leads, I might as well cut bait.
You can’t swing a dead dolphin in this town without hitting another dead dolphin. That’s just how common dolphin murder has become. One way or another, we’re all trapped inside a giant net. I stare out at the ocean, and I can practically see the blood hidden beneath the waves, washing in and washing out.
Just another day in Ocean City.
