It’s a funny thing, being eaten alive.
A little mouthwork between friends with benefits is a wonderful thing, as long as everyone comes … back from it.
If your idea of eating me involves your teeth and my blood―then count me out. I’m not the least bit interested.
But such is life that one sometimes finds themselves in situations where they don’t have a passed-out coed’s say in the matter.
Like when you’re the special guest at a vampire blood orgy (even less fun than it sounds).
Or stewing around in a cannibal’s crock pot (what’s for dinner, Doc?).
Or when you go for a swim.
A swim? What’s the big deal about swim?
You have to ask?
The water, boys and girls, is full of monsters that want your body. And not the way you want it to be wanted.
They want it for food.
You see, there’s sharks in these waters …
I thought everyone on planet Earth had seen the movie Jaws by now. Come on people, do your fucking homework. You’ve had almost 40 years to get this done―stop neglecting your education.
I just saw a report of a guy who’d apparently neglected his own studies, and became the victim of an unprovoked shark attack.
Unprovoked, huh? That strikes me as a curious designation. Is that what makes the incident so awful and newsworthy? Because the swimmer didn’t ask for it? So we have to admit it’s the shark’s fault?
Is that supposed to be a joke, or is it just funny?
Talk about our blame-the-victim culture gone awry. Just like when some handsome young stud gets abused by a gang of horny housewives holding him at gun point―society seems to prefer standing up for the perpetrators. As in, “Look, kid … you can’t go around looking like a Chippendale, and expect not to be taken advantage of. People have natural urges, you know. Girls will be girls.”
You’ve got to love the wildlife apologists (the poor dumb arrogant bastards), who make excuses for nature’s sweetest, most innocent, most lethal, killing machines. They’d have us believe that sharks only mistakenly attack humans they think are other sea creatures―ones that are listed on the official sharkbait menu.
Do you think a shark has ever said, “Sorry dude—I thought you were a seal. My bad.”
If I was a shark, I’d thank science for the free pass. Nice how the smarter we are, the dumber we are … and the intelligentsia always seems to find the best in our cold-blooded killers.
Still, I wonder just what is sufficient provocation for a shark attack to be considered … justified.
Do you think a little, good old fashioned verbal abuse would do it? As in, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but call me names and I’ll devour you’?
What do you say to piss off a shark?
“Yo momma’s so fat, I thought she was a manatee with a dorsal fin!”
“What? You swimmin’ at ME? You ain’t nothin’ but a squishy little octopussy!”
“Bring it on, sperm whale!”
That last one seems a little risky. Ask and ye shall receive.
I guess they could just blame the guy for being made out of meat.
So, if you swim with the sharks, then sooner or later, you’ll end up sleeping with the fishes. It’s as true in the water as it is on the mean streets. And since I don’t want my remains being picked out of shark shit, you won’t catch me swimming anywhere near ‘em.
The problem with that is, sharks can smell blood from like, 3 miles away. So, I guess that splashing around in the water would be one of the rare cases when a menstruating woman is not your best friend. Period.
So, bring your other girlfriend on vacation with you, if you have to. Or just meet someone there. It’s in the interest of safety. You have the perfect excuse.
Even marriage is not a suicide pact (depending on whom you ask).
Of course, murder-by-animal could be preferable to murder-by-scorned lover. At least a shark’s not trying to make it a painful experience …
A good way to avoid either of those untimely death scenarios would be to find yourself one of those new-fangled cement ponds to go swimming in. If you can see the bottom of the pool, and there’s no scary marine life down there, you should be golden.
And the little lady can turn it into the Red Sea if she wants to―the chances of some Great White shark flopping his way into your party should be next to nil. The neighbors might be a little reluctant to join you, but hey … just tell them ‘don’t worry―the chlorine will take care of it’.
You never know … maybe it will. If they have a problem with it, they can get their own pool.
Unless it is their pool.
And then they’ll want to kill you.
The moral of the story is, the world is out to get you.
Watch your ass.
And be careful who’s got you in their mouth.
Copyright 2013 Cock and Bull Publishing, LLC
Harlowe Pilgrim’s books are available at www.cockandbullpublishing.com, Amazon, iBooks, Smashwords.com, Books-A-Million, and most other online booksellers.
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