In 1970, a whale ended up on the beach in Florence, Oregon. That's a small town, and one not equipped with a whale removal kit or anything that can really move the eight-ton carcass of a sperm whale.
We're going to guess that this is one of those problems that seemed unsolvable until the team in charge got a few beers in them. We like to imagine a few guys hanging out in a bar after hours, pondering the situation, when one of them looks up from the pool table and says, "Dude, I've got it! Where can we get some dynamite?"
So 1,000 pounds of TNT later, the beach and the surrounding area was showered with a rain of rotting whale. The gathered crowd got a nice coating of molten whale blubber, and a giant slab flew over a quarter of a mile and crushed a man's car. Most of the whale, however, stayed right where it was on the beach.
Whale removal experts all over the world watched the situation closely, and apparently decided it was the most awesome fucking thing they had ever seen. Today, disposing of a whale via explosion is common practice (though if possible, the whale will be dragged out to sea first).
The reason is that if you don't explode the whale, it'll explode on its own. When whales die and rot, they become big gassy balloons of horror. Ask the people of Tainan, Taiwan. In 2004 they had a 50-ton whale that they were transporting down the street on the back of a truck. It exploded its guts all over bystanders, cars and shop fronts, like a pinata at Satan's birthday party.