Freaking Bizzare Dead Thing. Warning: Pictures.

Personal life issues are slowly settling down, so hopefully I'll be back to semi-regular updates. That is, until summer hits, at which point I'll be away five days a week to work with brats lovely children at that God camp I've mentioned. I am at this point praying that Project Runway doesn't launch a new season in the middle of the summer, as I have heard they're rushing to start season three. Oh well, at least I hope I'll have interesting stories on the weekend. As for now....

It's been occuring to me that, while definitely a bit fruity, my blog is not as totally bizarre as it could be. Look at my subtitle- shouldn't I be blogging about robots or leprachauns or robot leprachauns or something particularly out of the ordinary?
It turns out it's pretty hard to find inspiring topics to write about several times a week. But, I think I've gathered up enough material for at least a Monday-Wednesday-Friday set, and so I announce this week to be
FREAKIN' BIZZARE WEEK.

Let's start with what I did on Easter. While my hippie, vegetarian, antique-collecting aunt and uncle's giant, museum-like house where horses occasionally run through the back yard might be bizarre to some people, that's just one piece of the puzzle that is my upbringing. What really freaked me out this weekend was stumbled upon at a nearby beach.
I've seen horseshoe crabs, regular crabs and shellfish in general washed ashore plenty of times. I live in the ocean state. These things happen. However, Sunday afternoon, my uncle took my brother and I to a lesser-known local beach, where we witnessed what we initially guessed was a dead seal.

Now, maybe I should, but I do not know how to make cuts, jumps, or in any case, post a picture without you seeing it right away. Do I provide a wimpy link? Of course not, friends, I improvise. Here is a preview of a picture that I took of the thing, the gross bits tastefully blocked out by something slightly nicer to look at.



On closer inspection, we decided it was a shark. The problem being, we live in Rhode Island. You know how many sharks are around Rhode Island? Neither do I. I don't know because nobody cares, because there are so few sharks around Rhode Island that it isn't worth caring about unless you're a shark enthusiast, a title which I vehemently deny.
It's also only mid-April. Do you know how many sharks are around in mid-April, in Rhode Island? The answer, by all human logic, should be "none, silly!"
It was also pretty far up the beach. I would like to know the mathmetic probability of a shark washing ashore and dying, in mid-April, in Rhode Island. Someone get back to me on that.

Our third guess was that it was a porpoise of some kind, of course, that entails all of the problems with the idea that it's a shark. I described it to the boy, and he suggested that it could be a barracuda, but I find the wreckage hardly barracuda-esque.

WARNING: I am going to post the pictures now.

Seriously.

They're a little bit gross.

Stop scrolling if you're the squeamish type.

Exposed ribcage and everything, don't you know.

It's gross.

For real.

Here come the pictures.

Of the decaying animal carcass.

...

Ta-da.







Freaking bizzare, eh?