Pondering the merits of wobbies on the job.

For one hundred and thirty nine wearying years, the Knight has been the esophagus of Barstow (and the head, and the face, and the liver, and the pinkie toe, &tc. &tc. &tc.). The Knight has been caricatured onto rubber floors and embroidered onto teeshirts. Being the primary mascot for almost a century and a half is, you should know, as fatiguing as blinking seventy-two thousand, five hundred and three times in a row (if you are suddenly overcome with a devastating urge to prove us wrong, have no qualms and knock yourself out (in the figurative sense)).

Muttering through the shadowy catacombs of Barstow, though, is the scampering patter of change. “I am absolutely knackered!” bellowed the Knight, ‘66, through the hallway during a recent interview. “They just won’t leave me alone!” As the Knight is clearly quite cranky from a career that is lingering on into eternity, it might be the ideal time for a retirement party, and, accordingly, a successfully-chosen successor. Out of the interviewed candidates, we B-Liners have concluded that the Tasselled Wobbegong (see image below if struck by a passion of perplexity) is the most suitable for the job. 

The wobby (as we will aptly abbreviate it for fear of making these paragraphs too unintelligibly dense), or the Eucrossorhinus dasypogon (as those condescending snoots of scientists like to say) is a type of carpet shark who dithers in the murks, waiting for a merry B-Liner to come about and interview it. “I do need the money,” Wobby admitted to us last Thursday. “But don’t worry; I like the idea of inspiring young students, and I would love to relieve Ol’ Creaky of her job.”

Tasseled Wobbegongs have iron-strong jaws, which is a characteristic all Barstow students aspire to become (yes, yes, become; there is nothing greater in life than being a cheery-haired jawbone). The dasypogon in Eucrossorhinus dasypogon stems from the Greek dasys (“hairy”) and pogon (“beard”), which is named for the characteristic flouncy fringes bordering all wobbies. Wobbies belong to the genus Crossorhinus, which sprouts from the Greek krossos (“fringe or tassel”) and the Greek rhine (“rasp, referencing their rasp-like skin”), which means that their technical name translates to “hairy bearded fringy lumpy-skin.” If there exist better creatures to represent Barstow to the world, we have not heard of them. 

Teeth are significantly important entities for the typical Barstow student; gnawing on pencils in math class, chewing Barstow pizza, and using one’s mouth in any and all ways require the shimmery chompers we hold so dearly. Wobbies (O their splendid finniness, so lyrically divine) snazzily don 23-27 upper rows of teeth, and 19 lower rows of teeth on a daily basis. Is there any creature so adequately pre-sculpted for the job? “Nope. I’m the best,” Wobby arrogantly interjects.

Despite Gilbert Whitley’s 1940 report that the Tasselled Wobbegong routinely “attacks and generally kills the natives of Papua New Guinea,” it is widely believed that, although they have the faculties to brutally wound onlookers, they are pleasant fellows who have been approached, without incident, by divers and humans alike (and, coincidentally, human divers and diving humans and diving non-humans and human-non-divers the same).

Wobbies are, interestingly enough, creatures of many names. Finnish wobbies happen to go by the name of alkotäpläpartahai, Burmese wobbies go by ဆွယ်ဝဘ်ဘကုန်း, Thai wobbies go by พู่วอบเบกอง, and Azerbaijani wobbies go by Qozlu Wobbegong.  

Now that we have adequately briefed the troops on the details, go out of your way to say hello to any wobbies you see creeping about Barstow (being the lonely new fellow with no one to talk to is a lousy way to be). Whether the Knight will indeed submit to a life of water exercises and microwave-lasagna is an interesting topic of discussion, but as the armor rusts into overuse, change must be embraced and wobbies must be hired.