Maybe buy a new copy of the book? I would think you could pick-up a copy of Moby Dick from Dover or some other cheap publisher that includes old-timey whale schlong for next to nothing.
Let's just say that, in an environment in which you can move in three dimensions, having a prehensile member would be quite useful when there's a lot of competition.
when i was in middle school (in the bible belt), one of our library assistants took it upon herself to draw little tiny bikinis and speedos over every single piece of art in every single art book that showed but nary a glimmer of a boob or penii.
Those look like the stickers used for registering to take the SAT. So apparently it was some uptight high schooler who took the task of censorship on themselves. That just makes it seem all the more dumb.
Underlining in ballpoint (or highlighting) kills books. If you must (and you shouldn't) use a pencil.
Also, whenever whale penises come up, I always think of that scene in Weird Science with the jock older brother and the MX missle. "I didn't think it was a whale's dick!"
Upon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander. I sought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full - not a bed unoccupied. "But avast," he added, tapping his forehead, "you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer's blanket, have ye? I s'pose you are goin' a whalin', so you'd better get used to that sort of thing."
I told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he (the landlord) really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night, I would put up with the half of any decent man's blanket.
...
The more I pondered over this harpooneer, the more I abominated the thought of sleeping with him. It was fair to presume that being a harpooneer, his linen or woollen, as the case might be, would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of the finest. I began to twitch all over. Besides, it was getting late, and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards. Suppose now, he should tumble in upon me at midnight - how could I tell from what vile hole he had been coming?
Dirty dirty girl!!
Should I feel a little weird about having tried to find a copy (just now) and being disappointed when I failed?
Looking at whale penii is what the Internet is for.
Let's just say that, in an environment in which you can move in three dimensions, having a prehensile member would be quite useful when there's a lot of competition.
If you got just one peek at my magnificence you'd never be happy with any other man again.
Great, now I have this image of a whale climbing a tree with its penis. You broke my brain.
Penises, people. Penises. Look it the fuck up.
Also, whenever whale penises come up, I always think of that scene in Weird Science with the jock older brother and the MX missle. "I didn't think it was a whale's dick!"
http://media1.break.com/dnet/media/2007/…
p.s. Try steaming them off. I works on envelopes.
Upon entering the place I found a number of young seamen gathered about a table, examining by a dim light divers specimens of skrimshander. I sought the landlord, and telling him I desired to be accommodated with a room, received for answer that his house was full - not a bed unoccupied. "But avast," he added, tapping his forehead, "you haint no objections to sharing a harpooneer's blanket, have ye? I s'pose you are goin' a whalin', so you'd better get used to that sort of thing."
I told him that I never liked to sleep two in a bed; that if I should ever do so, it would depend upon who the harpooneer might be, and that if he (the landlord) really had no other place for me, and the harpooneer was not decidedly objectionable, why rather than wander further about a strange town on so bitter a night, I would put up with the half of any decent man's blanket.
...
The more I pondered over this harpooneer, the more I abominated the thought of sleeping with him. It was fair to presume that being a harpooneer, his linen or woollen, as the case might be, would not be of the tidiest, certainly none of the finest. I began to twitch all over. Besides, it was getting late, and my decent harpooneer ought to be home and going bedwards. Suppose now, he should tumble in upon me at midnight - how could I tell from what vile hole he had been coming?