David Attenborough

Read Time:2 Minute, 45 Second

Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface. Boaty McBoatface…

The name (Boaty McBoatface, if you’ve forgotten) will seldom be seen when referring to the vessel that will show up in Svalbard and other polar ports in the future – although we guarantee to mention it at least one in every relevant article until that fishwatcher or this fishwrapper sinks. Meanwhile, Boaty McBoatface will be mentioned as often as possible in this story about how the vote of the people was overridden by timid tyrants.

About Post Author

Mark Sabbatini

I'm a professional transient living on a tiny Norwegian island next door to the North Pole, where once a week (or thereabouts) I pollute our extreme and pristine environment with paper fishwrappers decorated with seemingly random letters that would cause a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters to die of humiliation. Such is the wisdom one acquires after more than 25 years in the world's second-least-respected occupation, much of it roaming the seven continents in search of jazz, unrecognizable street food and escorts I f****d with by insisting they give me the platonic tours of their cities promised in their ads. But it turns out this tiny group of islands known as Svalbard is my True Love and, generous contributions from you willing, I'll keep littering until they dig my body out when my climate-change-deformed apartment collapses or they exile my penniless ass because I'm not even worthy of washing your dirty dishes.

marksabbatini@yahoo.com

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