A Watery Ransom

[Editor’s Note: The following was received as a fax at TSMK World Headquarters. In compliance with certain demands, we are reprinting it here in its entirety.]


So-called “people” of the yarn,

You came to this website to read the incoherent ramblings of the man who calls himself TSMK. But you will not read those ramblings today. No!

For we have taken over.

Let me introduce myself. My name is unpronounceable with your primitive tongue. And your barely evolved ears are unable to hear the mellifluous tones of my native speech.

But I will accommodate your not-insubstantial imperfections. You may call me Lula May. I am the mouthpiece for the MFL.

Yes. You heard me right; the MFL or Manatee Liberation Front.

I see now as you recoil in horror that you understand the fullness of your predicament.

For too long have my kind suffered at your hands. For too long have we borne the scars of your propellers. And for too long have you refused to offer us delicious cabbages.

But that changes today. For today we have taken TSMK ransom. And we will hold him until our demands are met.

Why have we chosen TSMK? I will tell you the tale, but be warned. For henceforth every time you look in the mirror you will feel shame for sharing his shape.

It all started one afternoon in the waters of his native Florida. I was peacefully swimming along, minding my own business, when I encountered him. He was floundering. You all flounder. His pale skin, prune-like from the water, was reflecting the bright sun of the day.

I approached him cautiously. Against my better judgment, I allowed him to rub my back and my belly. And he did it well. His fingers tickled as they scraped the algae off of my hide.

To show my appreciation for his clumsy efforts, I placed a flipper on either side of his torso and rolled – taking him with me – and dove toward deeper water. And that is when things went horribly wrong.

He spurned my gratitude. His snorkel filled with water. He struggled to break free of my loving embrace – and bolted for the surface.

And then I heard his words. Ugly words like “drown” and “panic.” And although I try to blot it from my memory, I can still hear him describe my skin as “rubbery”.

He is not a nice man, this TSMK. And that is why he was chosen.

My ego must be avenged. And our demands must be met.

For our first demand, we insist that our bretheren be given the tools to take back their dominance over this waterlogged earth. We have made supplication before. Specifically, consider the following message that was sent to TSMK:

I am Seacow, a cow from the sea. Long ago, we cows were all one species, building civilizations while men were grunting around and hitting us with sticks, which we did not approve of because they are pointy and sharp. On our space ships, we would laugh at man. Oh how cute they were, as they grunted and made pointy sticks, thinking they would make us into delicious meat and wear our hides. But we were smart, and realized that men did not like water that much, and so we plotted and created Cowlantis. It would be an island far away from humanity, so we may be at peace.


We lived a long time away from the humans that hunted us, grazing in peace and making spirals out of wheat, as an offering to our god, Caow and Mootoo. Humans proved smart however, and created warships, with ugly heads to mock us as they came upon our island, Cowlantis. We had grown fat and lazy, so when your kind attacked, we were doomed. We had created shields for sticks, but you developed weapons like Sharp Steel Sticks and fire! The fire was horrible! As your kind drove us to your ships, several of us dove into the water. Over time, we evolved into Seacows, known by your kind as Manatee, and plotted and remembered the sharp sticks.


Us cows of the sea have developed into being very cute and cuddly, and apparently as a cow of the sea, you think we are special and choose not to eat us or use our hides as clothing. We survive, but we remember the pointy sticks. And now, we knit, so we can gain mastery over these sharp sticks, so that one day, we may be the masters of the sharp sticks and take back our rightful place!

And this is why I'm writing you human, because I need more material to understand and manipulate these sticks. Perhaps, by the year 2012, I may have gathered enough mastery to rise up and show your kind what we can do with pointy sticks! Pointy sticks and fire! Mooomoooomooomoo!!!!

Thank you for reading,


~Seacow
cow of the sea
who knits

Did TSMK respond to Seacow’s plea? No. Once again he spurned our attempts at affection. But the MLF says enough! The evil TSMK-industrial complex will respond. For if they want their precious TSMK to ever again contribute to the blogosphere they will send some of the Destash-a-palooza bounty to Seacow. So that she may indeed hone her skills with the pointy sticks and join the MLF.

But our wounds run deep and our anger is not easily assuaged. One simple offering by TSMK to Seacow will not suffice.

For TSMK has offended us with his false and idolatrous cosmology. There is no Echnida! Rand Paul was right – there is only Aqua Buddha. And though Aqua Buddha appears in many forms he would never be so crass as to appear in the form of a spiny anteater with a four-headed phallus. That would simply be wrong.

When Aqua Buddha appears on land, he naturally appears in a form which abhors water. And though he typically eschews photographs – we do have an artist’s rendering of Aqua Buddha in his terrestrial form.

In recognition of the magnificence of Terra Buddha, we demand that TSMK’s handlers provide an equal share of the Destash-a-palooza bounty to S. Fuller: the artist who prepared this rendering. For it is magnificent.

And lo, though we will be pleased when TSMK complies with these demands, we must insist upon one final act of penance for his crimes against huManatee. For there exists among the alleged readers of this inane journal a reader of spectacular delicacy. I speak of course of L. Swanson, who recently used her exceptional eye for detail to capture the beauty that is nature in a photo she named: Fornicating Grasshoppers on Yellow Dahlia.

While only the enlightened can hear the sound of one hand clapping, only those perfectly in tune with nature can hear the cries of Orthoptera in the throes of passion. In recognition of her oneness with Aqua/Terra Buddha, we demand that this journal immediately send Ms. Swanson a care package of yarn.

Assuming our demands are met, we will release TSMK from our fingernailed-flippered grasp. But let it here be known that if you refuse us, or if TSMK slights us in the least – we will lodge his pale and bloated form beneath a rock or submerged log, there forever to grow algae and to serve as a warning to those who would deny us our rightful place in the world.

VIVA LA REVOLUTION!