Reasons I'm Not Afraid of Sharks

1. I don't know any sharks.

2. Ok, let's say I was going to meet some. Like at a party I was invited to by some mutual aquatic life acquaintance .  I couldn't just stereotype them, could I? I should at least meet them, right?

3. So I'm at this party and my friend, Greg, who is a grouper eel, introduces me to this shark by the name of Montrose and he's a little intimidating with those rows of teeth and all, but he wonders if I play squash and I tell him, yeah, I've tried it. And he says, Great!

4.A week goes by and I'm mowing my lawn and Montrose pulls up right in front of my house. Said he saw me when he drove by earlier.  He and Mrs. Shark are looking at the neighborhood.  It's closer to work and their boy, Carloff, is going to try out for the swim team.  I ask him jokingly, "Don't you think having gills is kind of cheating?"  And Montrose says, "Isn't using a harpoon in a fight instead of your evolution given gifts kind of cheating?"  What a zinger.  I love this shark.

5.  I'm having this poker night at my house and Montrose comes over.  Brings over these delicious crab stuffed crabs.  Greg the grouper eel is there and a couple of human guys from work. And a manta ray whose name I keep forgetting.  And we're playing five card stud and Montrose gets up to use the shower for a second, he has to keep wet, it's an ocean thing and when he comes back in, my coworker Brian the human starts doing the Jaws theme, "Dunh dunh dunh". Everyone gets real uncomfortable.  Montrose looks pissed.  I hear his razor sharp teeth grind. But then he looks right at Brian and says, "You know, I don't watch Silence of the Lambs and think all humans are crazed demented cannibals.  So I'd appreciate it if you didn't stereotype my people because of one movie."  The manta ray says 'Aw, snap' which makes Greg spit root beer everywhere and everyone just loses it. The manta ray's name turns out to be Ray.

6.  I'm at work the next day and Brian doesn't show up.  I figure he's embarrassed about the Jaws thing.  And then around lunchtime, someone runs in and tells me that Brian was eviscerated outside of his apartment last night.  In fact, it looks like someone slurped out all his guts and spit out his pacemaker.  The whole town is scared about a bear being in the vicinity.  I have a weird feeling I know who it is.  I call up Montrose.  He says he's been playing golf all morning but he'd meet me for drinks after work.

The bar he picks is a little out of the way and caters mostly to fish out of water.  They keep sprinklers going the whole time for the Waterbreathers but they have a bright yellow rainsuit for me.  Which makes me feel a little like the guy on the Gorton's fishstick box.  Montrose is at the end of the bar.  He's sipping a real Bloody Mary.  I sit down next to him.  Order a Shirley Temple.  Tell the bartender I want the human variety.  He's a marlin. He sort of chuckles darkly.  I guess it has a double meaning.

I tell Montrose about Brian.  I say it offhand, just like I would tell anyone a story about some guy being chewed.  My tone is flat, conversational, properly shocked.  Montrose snorts a little when I say a bear did it. He thinks bears are brainless, lazy.  Not worth the rug they wear over their bones.  I say some people think that sharks are just the bears of the sea.  Montrose gets quiet and then he opens his mouth.  Asks me if I see anything in his teeth.  And there it is.  Brian's wedding ring sitting like a crown on one of those shark incisors.

I say, "Yeah. I see something."

He says, "Could you be a pal and get it out? No pilot fish today. And no opposable thumbs, you know."

I reach inside his giant maw.  The bar gets quiet.  All I can hear is "Benny and Jets" playing on the jukebox. His breath stinks like tuna and something else.  Some sweet kind of beef.  The Brian kind.  My hand is shaking. The ring is way back.  I have to lean my head in a little.  Water or saliva drips down on my neck.  I touch the metal, cool and wet. I slice my thumb a little on the tooth.  It hits the tongue. Montrose can taste it. He shivers. I grab the ring and pull back.

Montrose smiles.  "If you need another poker player, I know a hammerhead.  He's dumb. He'll lose money like starfish lose limbs."

I smile.  Elton John finishes.  My drink comes.

7.  Oh,and Montrose said my blood tastes like crap.  I have a rare blood type and he says it is repulsive.

The Future of Taste

It’s time to face facts, Dweekins Family. There. Will. Never. Be. A. Dorito. Flavored. Soda! Don’t cry, Grandma. The writing is on the wall! Yes, like the rest of you, I believed the wizards of Frito Lay would be benevolent and open to their customer base. But they are not! Our repeated letters, phone calls, and ambushing of executives in the parking lots have phased them not at all! They are cruel masters of cheese. They are succubi. Don’t correct my Latin, Mom. It’s like pleading with the gods. How can any one group be given that much power on Earth? Remember what they’ve done to us? Cousin Jon-Tom’s skin will never be a lighter shade of orange. And god bless Uncle Hambone. That mystery flavor drove him to his mother cheesing grave. Can we just stand by while our flavor destiny is determined by non-Dweekins? I say unto you, Nay. I have outlined a massive corporate takeover, by which I mean, for those of you who don’t speak corporate-ese, we will make a murder path through the floors of Frito Lay headquarters. After we kill all the higher ups, we will wear their suits and seamlessly blend in as the new Masters. And yes, Step-Daddy, we will have their recipes and we will be the earth’s new gods. And then the sky’s the limit. We’ll create flavors they never dreamed. What do you say, Dweekins? Are we cool? No. We’re better than cool. We’re cool ranch.