From Box Turtle Ben’s Novel-In-Progress:

Moby Dick Doby Mick.

Now that he has been kerbooted into the exurbs of Jayson Blairville, word has it that Box Turtle Ben has had to dust off his unfinished opus and hurry things up to fall back on the "controversial author" dodge before people forget his name and he sinks back into the wingnut ooze.

The galley proofs are circulating. Here's a sample...

Chapter 1: “Loomings. Or what I did during my eleven minutes on the WaPo payroll.”

Call me, uh, Pishmael.

Yeah…”Pishmael.”

Anyway…

Some years ago- never mind how long precisely- having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore at Hooters, I thought I would sail blog about a little and see the watery Red State part of the world. It is a way I have of venting driving off the spleen and boosting regulating the circulation.

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically slandering and insulting African Americans knocking people's hats off -- then, I account it high time to get to sea blogging and plagarizing as soon as I can.

This is my substitute for pistol and ball having no balls.

With a philosophical flourish Cato WaPo throws himself upon his itself upon its sword; I quietly take to the ship noisily take to the paper. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men not-so-closeted-racists in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean brown people with me.

There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes Main Stream Media, belted round by wharves Rightwing Apologists as Indian isles by coral reefs- commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets Right Wing Stenographers take you waterward Raptureward…

So can I please have my sweet, sweet gig at the WaPo now?

Oh, and for those keeping score at home, that’s two (2) “Moby” posts in three days, a phenomenon for which I have no explanation, but on which Box Turtle Ben expounds at great length in the Chapter 42:

“The Whiteness of the Redstate Male.”