It’s obvious to me after 13 months of waiting that somehow I’ve teed off Neptune (or Poseidon, if one is Greek). It’s been that long since I’ve found a big, nicely-shaped great white shark tooth or a well-formed mako shark tooth.
Even Daniel Webster would have to admit at this point that ol’ Neptune sticks to his bargains like Mr. Scratch — the devil himself. El Diablo. You see, I promised Neptune long ago that, if he threw me an occasional beauty, I would keep cleaning the beach of the refuse he expectorates. Well, His Bumness has kept his end of the deal.
Since last finding a sizeable, near-perfect tooth, I’ve gone sharks teeth hunting about 330 times and I’ve found nearly 5,000 fossils. I still remember, right after finding a beautiful mako tooth, rearranging my four-windowed display table to allow for new arrivals. Six months ago I realized I’d been overly optimistic. Now I just feel foolish.
I’ve begged Ra a dozen times to ease my pain. In acts of submission, I’ve done the human-cross thingy often, standing in the surf and facing the horizon with my head tilted back and my arms extended. The first time I remember seeing it was on the cover of Neil Young’s compilation album, Decades. My version of it is the Dharma Beach Bum pose. I assumed the position, so to speak, while wearing my freaking Gilligan hat. Muttering. In front of tourists. You’re going to force me, Ra, to consult one of your underlings if you keep this up: Mr. Scratch. Don’t do it, Big Guy. It’s too hot down there and I’m not real big on the idea of eternal damnation.
Neptune, I’m feeling lower than the actors who had to work with loudmouth Shelly Winters in the Poseidon Adventure — when the ship was already upside-down. Come on, dude. Toss one of those big, glossy triangles ashore for me. I know you rule over a domain that is largely unforgiving, but show me a little compassion.
I bow to you, Neptune. Poseidon. Whatever you’re calling yourself now. I know how much you like seahorses, so I pray that you are hanging out near some reef watching them cavorting around coral.
Do you know how much time I spent just finding a picture of you for this blog? You always seemed to have your junk hanging out and, yeah, I wish you would have worn a toga more often when modeling for those sculptors. El Bummerino is envious of your pecs. Tired of seeing your peck..you know what I mean.
Oh, the sculptors were using their imaginations? Must have played both sides of the stone fence.
Anyway. Please toss me a big shark’s tooth soon. I’m not getting any younger.