Amish Shamu

There exists a whale named Shamu, and he is Amish; therefore we townsfolk refer to him by his full title: Amish Shamu. His wooden ballroom is lit by candelabra. Amish Shamu is peaceful and would not fistfight you even if he had hands (he only has fins); that’s what I like about him. His prized possession is a 5-by-5-foot garden lot. He also owns a rickety wagon for carrying vegetables. He says that the simple life was his calling, and he enjoys it. Don’t believe me? Ask him: “Hey, Amish Shamu, aloha!” “Aloha,” he repies, “I’m spending the morning digging in my 5-by-5 garden lot.” “Hey, Amish Shamu,” you say, “would you like to join me indoors and watch some sitcoms on television?” “No, thanks,” he replies; “I only work and sleep.” So you smirk and shake your head. Then you paint his picture in oils — here’s what it looks like:

Portrait of Amish Shamu

Big fins, whale blubber, long beard, swimming in the wine-dark pool, churning butter and whipping cream. Black clothes, big hat. One heckuva sea-creature. Gigantic body with a whalloping tail. He can leap through a hoop. If you’re in need of rest, he’ll take you back to the room and set you down on the bed. Amish Shamu is his name. He’s big and blue. Free refills for the entire audience. His aquarium is large.