February 01, 2005
Ask a Nineteenth-Century Whaling Expert. The academic bloggers at Crooked Timber explode the liberal myths that support the whaling ban and solve perplexing relationship issues along the way.
My latest column at “Whale Central Station” is up, exposing the leftist myth of finite whale supplies.
1. Whales breed. Therefore, the potential supply of whales is unlimited.
2. As whaling technology improves, our ability to exploit this limited supply of whales becomes ever-greater. A few years ago, 40 whales in a four year trip was regarded as good going. Modern Norwegian whalers capture and process 40 whales a month. All of the estimates of the “sustainability” of the whale-based economy were put together before such inventions as exploding harpoons. And remember that the supply of whales is self-replenishing. Leftists seem not to understand that whales have sex.
3. Reducing whaling would cost vast amounts of money and destroy our economy; credible estimates would suggest that without whale-oil lamps we would all sit around in the dark until we die. This money would better be spent on providing aid to the Inuit.
4. We can’t give the Inuit property rights over their whales to help them manage the speed of whaling, because that’s just politically impractical.
5. Arrrrr!
Posted by dsquared · January 31, 2005 05:01 PM
Arrrrr!
Whales have sex?! In public?!
Yet another reason to wipe out the filthy vermin.
Arrrrr!
link is dead (times out) for me...anyone else run into this?
Seems to be steaming full ahead now gren. Other highlights:
Dear Nineteenth-Century Whaling Expert:
My boyfriend is always pressuring me to “go all the way,” but I’m not sure I’m ready. I don’t want to disappoint him, but this seems like a big step. What should I do? - Perplexed in Phoenix
Dear Perplexed,
Call me Kenneth. Well I remember those terrible days of yore, when mighty seafaring men bestrode the waves on massive vessels of oak and iron. Lo, then did the fearsome whale-beast breach and carve asunder the frothing surf, straining in vain to escape the wrath of the harpoon. Mark my words - the harpoon-thrower is your boyfriend, and fear him you must. As those steel-eyed whale-hunters were after but a single prize, so does this young fellow want only one thing. Sound and dive, young lady, sound and dive.
Arrr.
great name! Out of the Crooked Timber of Humanity, No Straight Thing was Ever Made.
yowsa.
oh, and arrrrr.
I agree with the gentlemen who said “Arrrrr!”
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