Everybody and his cross-dressing brother want to use Iceland to skewer whales these days. A whopping 42 groups are on their knees begging for some harpoon action. Harpoon yourselves, say I.

Among the signers was Fridrik Thor Arngrimsson, head of the Federation of Icelandic Fishing Vessel Owners, who says, "I am certain that whaling will be permitted... What I am uncertain of is how much we will be allowed to catch."

Mr. Thor Arngrimsson, I can think of two dozen things I'd like for you to catch. And none of them is a whale.

It’s a freaking whale. How much whale do you need to catch? Do you really need three school buses full of blubber? You need that much fat, why not visit your local operating room during stomach stapling season? I hear summer’s good. Plenty of free lipid-rich cottage cheese-like muck to fill oil lamps and preserve perfumes for everyone!

I can think of dozens of better things to harpoon: giant strawberries (to be dipped in giant pots of chocolate fondue); stray asteroids hurdling toward Earth (ideally this would be made into an Olympic sport); those giant cockroaches from Madagascar (but only if they show up in your kitchen).  Or if you really want to spear something from the sea so bad, why not just turn yourself into a merman? That would at least even the playing field.

We know Sea Shepherd and Greenpace aren't among The Foul 42 who signed away their souls; are you? Join me in saying no to nautilicide. (Yes, I made that word up. But oh, does it fit.) Better yet, tell Iceland yourself with your travel dollars here.