You may feel safe from killer whales while you stroll through Sierra Madre. Forty miles of dry land, plus a couple of mountains, would seem adequate shield from the “biter-grabber” of the deep, wouldn’t you think?
Well, think again, lubber. Marauding cetaceans are no respectors of clines. The citizens of Sierra Madre made their peace with Orcas long ago. Recognizing the ubiquity and mischievousness of the SeaWorld wannabees, the elders of Sierra Madre employ a team of full-time Orca Feeders to patrol their city-state with buckets of chum and long-handled Orca-spoons.
When orca feedings are taking place, signs such as the one in the illustration above appear. Those who enjoy the spectacle are thus alerted to come a-runnin’ and gather ’round. The wiser, those who have seen “Shamudemonium,” turn away at once.
For then them whales destroyed our boats
They rammed them one by one
They stove them all with head and fluke
And after they was done
We few poor souls left half-alive
Was clinging to debris
I’d stake me life them fish can think
As good as you and me
Now John is blind, Jim’s lost an arm
And Caleb’s lost below
My leg will heal but other men
No more aloft can go
So I’ll not man your boats again
Though you drown me in the sea
For I tell you sir, them fish can think
As good as you or me