Forgive my indiscretion, Count. Cogent I am that you spoil me now with a thought of sobriety,… Forgive my indiscretion, Count. Cogent I am that you spoil me now with a thought of sobriety, gravity and good humor, smacking off heaven above and this world we know so well. However, for kindness’ sake, entertain my sabbatical from this waltz of wit and reason. For you see, my dear beloved friend, narwhals have just blown my freaking mind.

This theme – that of narwhals blowing my mind – begs the question: Was I not prior keen to the narwhal’s existence, versed as I am in zoology, among the other natural and spiritual sciences?

I have, in fact, known there were narwhals, but only as of late, within the last 10 seconds, did the issue come to the forefront. Less than a second hence, just more than nine seconds ago, the topic received such undivided attention in the parliament of my thoughts, that my mind was blown with a broad variety of metaphysical shrapnel now coating your armoire, which guards your prized collection of pistols fired on the losing side of historic duels.

Narwhals are awesome, and the case for their awesomeness is this: They are whales with horns surging more than eight feet from their noses. A simple description suffices for these miracles of flesh and ivory.

Why did we invent unicorns? They were a superfluous addition to the realm of wonder. Narwhals are strictly preferable. Unicorns they are, but in the ocean, able to survive cold temperatures and real. Also, like all whales, narwhals do not go to sleep in the same sense as we, while it is much implied unicorns do, in fact, slumber like babes.

Hear my case! We do not nourish notions of a horse-like creature with a neck extending four feet. Venture no further than my trophy room, and you will see there are already giraffes with six-foot necks. And giraffes have horns – two horns, in fact, which is one more than the unicorn can boast. Hence, no sad soul hoisted the yoke of breeding an imaginary creature less awesome than the giraffe.

Likewise, have you perchance heard rumor of the landraven? It is a mythical creature, like a raven in every way but imbued with special magic whose lone effect is rendering the landraven unable to fly. Scoff you may – and it is your right, for the landraven is lame, and it is not even real. Poe would kick the landraven back out his chamber door. By the same token, then, ought we also not scoff at the unicorn, which is not real and cannot even swim?

In contrast, the narwhal’s whole nature is polished for heightened awesomeness. Case in point: Do you know why the narwhal bears his proud horn? These scientist types do not know, but there is broad consensus outside the scientific community that narwhals simply fancy horns, in the same way you or I would gladly accept a horn offered freely, when assured of its quality.

Some argue that unicorns have properties beyond horns that merit their places in our imaginations. For example, in the “Harry Potter” books, unicorn blood nourishes Voldemort’s haint. In all truth, however, unicorn blood merely acts as a mild stimulant, close in effect to caffeine.

In the horrible conservationist propaganda picture, “The Last Unicorn,” financed by and targeted toward a radical pro-unicorn contingency, which does not even adequately represent the views of the unicorns themselves, the unicorns can shoot magic out of their horns. More so than the harmless wives’ tale we find in “Harry Potter,” this depiction is a patent lie. It merely seems that the unicorns shoot magic out of their horns, because they can only exercise their very limited telekinetic abilities with unbroken concentration and eye contact. The horn being located between the eyes, it gives the impression of a magic horn.

In contrast to the imaginary unicorns, narwhals enjoy a very real and more personal type of magic, that of wonder. In the arctic, from the decks of our yachts, we may behold the narwhal and ponder his beauty. No need for supernaturalism here! Science, in fact, strengthens the narwhal’s magic: Darwin at hand, we may contemplate how the narwhal shares with us a common ancestor. We are not so different, after all, these narwhals and we, I say! And it is only for want of initiative that we do not grow horns ourselves.

As we gentlemen face our duty toward the lower orders, remember our cousins the narwhals. Remember how we hunted the whales, near to extinction, with our harpoons and stuffed them proudly for our trophy rooms. Remember how one race of whale held then the line, like a floating phalanx, and brandished its own harpoons! And blew our freaking minds!

Again, my august friend, again I say to you: Remember the narwhals! This I implore, lest we forget their splendor, and thereafter, with haste, follow they the unicorns.

E-mail Lewis at [email protected].