Samurai Shark
Russ Edgewood
Published by Don't Care Publishing
Copyright 2011 Russ Edgewood
All rights reserved
Cover designed by R. Edgewood
Cover design and layout copyright 2014 by Don't Care Publishing
Cover image © Piumadaquila- Fotolia.com
Samurai Shark
Let me tell you there’s nothing worse than getting a goddamned license plate stuck in your teeth.
People these days don’t give a shit what they throw in my ocean. And it is my ocean. Not the fuckin’ dolphins. Not the fuckin’ killer whales (who I like to call the great fucking gits of the pacific). Not the sea lions. And certainly not those deep water cowards the giant squid. I mean puleeeassse--Give me a fucking break!
It’s all about the shark, isn’t it? We’re the kings of the deep, the sultans of the ocean depths, the tidewater killers. We swim we glide we eat, we do it all.
You wanta see the world? Get a shark. You wanta eat your date because she’s a real pain in the ass? Get a shark…which reminds me.
I’m sure you recall that simply awful shark movie where that stupid welsh guy, with the sissy ball cap, tried to take out my cousin Barney. A marine biologist, a hick small town sheriff, and a Welsh guy who knows less than Benny Hill does about sharks. AS IF!
I know what you’re thinking…Barney the shark? That’s my cousin’s real name. You know how these big shot actors, they like to use stage names. Look up the word ego in the dictionary and you’ll find Barney’s picture. Asshole.
Now didn’t the Welsh guy get his just desserts—oh, shit I think I just made a funny—the jerk-off was the dessert, wasn’t he? Ha!
Of course, you know Hollywood they always screw things up. If you knew the real story…
Oops, sorry. My lawyer says I’m not allowed to dis you know who. Big shot dictators—huh, I mean directors. Fuck, Freud did it to me again. Sorry about that. Perhaps another time? When we’re alone? Sure. Now where was I?
Oh yeah, Hollywood.
Anyway, these jerk-off studio guys are always trying to make out the shark is the cowboy with the black hat. Com’on people it’s not some spaghetti western out here. I mean this is the real fuckin’ ocean. Filled with real danger and real intrigue (well, maybe not intrigue, but it sounds good doesn’t it?).
And for fuck’s sake, how do you expect a shark to survive unless he eats something. We don’t eat sand ya know. And we’re expected to mate and produce more sharks aren’t we? No food, no fuel. No fuel, no shark. No shark, no baby shark. Pretty simple really, when you do the math.
All right, so I know what you’re thinking. Yes, once in awhile we chomp down on some little surfer girls arms or legs, or we attack some boatload of tourists, or we eat the odd sheriff, or some stupid Welsh fisherman. What’s so bad about that? I mean you people are invading our space, not the other way around, ya know. And Welsh fishermen—I thought they were extinct anyway.
Besides you guys make a lot of noise. All that splashing, shouting, and running around half-naked. I know we swim around naked all the time but after all, we live in the ocean, you guys just visit.
And what about us? Ever think of us? I think not. You know barnacles and paint don’t taste very good. And do you really think Welsh fishermen contain any nutritional value whatsoever? They’re the Count Chocula of human meat. Must be all that booze. I don’t know.
And the stink you people give off? Un-fucking believable! Don’t you guy’s bathe? You smell like shit.
Frankly, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be. People, dolphins what’s the difference? You’re all mammals as far as I’m concerned. You both splash around pretty good, and are moderately hard to catch.
Not that I’m making excuses. Oh no. It’s just that in the good old days, as my dad used to say, there was plenty of food for everyone. Now we have the fucking factory ships going along scooping every fish they can from the ocean.
I’ve heard of some places where even the bottom feeders (also known as the other white meat. Only with enough bones to pick the teeth clean of a six-headed octopus) are completely gone.
Sorry, I digress. My point is the ocean used to have room for everyone. Then you shit for brains humans came along and started dumping heavy oil, human waste, garbage of all kinds, and nuclear waste of all things, in with us ocean dwellers.
Don’t you know what happens when a fish gets that glue stick stuck in its gills? It dies, my friend. And not the nice way either, like when I slurp it down in one gulp either. It suffocates. Do you want to suffocate? I don’t fuckin' think so.
While we’re on this topic, I have one thing to say about nuclear waste: fish with four eyes that taste like clowns. Nuff said! Assholes.
Just the other day I was cruising along the inside passage of Canada’s west coast when some micro-brain approaches in a sixteen foot power launch. If you can believe it this no-mind doofus drops a sonar device in the water.
Now I don’t know how you feel about migraine headaches, but I certainly had a whopper that day let me tell you. And he had the nerve to fuckin' wonder why I attacked his boat, and took off with his sonar unit. The dumb shit was waving his arms and yelling, “Shark! Shark!”, at the top of his fool lungs. Like he’s never seen one before? As if.
And he calls himself a marine biologist. Where’d he get his degree? The Antarctic School of Science for those students who don’t give a fuck about anything but getting their bogus degree. Probably a mail order school if you ask me.
And then they get tenure at some low rent marine land with two dolphins called dumb and dumber. You know the kind of place. The one with the murky tanks filled with dead sea turtles, and fish only fit for bait.
Thankfully, his sonar now rests at the bottom of the sound, where it’ll do no more damage. The guy took off in a hurry when I rammed his boat. He must’ve seen that stupid fucking movie too. It hurts to butt your head against fiberglass. That stuff is damn hard, let me tell you.
On the same trip, I came across a really weird fucking phenomenon. I was cruising along near dusk, the ocean’s surface was like glass, the wind had died down to nearly nothing so my dorsal fin cut through the glassy surface water. I love the tickle of the foam around my fin. It’s sweet.
Anyway, I was suddenly stopped by a smell that made me very afraid. Now being a great white shark means you’re not afraid of very many things. This smell made me uneasy so I had to find out where it was coming from.
It was nearly dark and the last of the light was very nearly gone. I followed the scent for a few miles without luck then decided to slip into a small rocky cove for the night, and wait until morning. There were a few rock cod lurking about so I ate my fill, then rested just below the surface floating and bobbing to the waves, conserving my energy for the next day.
In the morning I swam north, in the direction the smell seemed to be coming from. The farther north I went the stronger the scent until finally, the water became a murky green color. By now the odor was really fuckin' strong.
Finally, I came into a sheltered bay where there were logs strung together by a mess fish netting. Small boats overloaded with you dumb-ass humans, ferried from the shore, moved through the nets. I heard the hum of the fuckin' outboard motors as they sped past me. I wanted to eat a few but I was full right then and snack time was still an hour away.
I cruised forward and bumped against the net. I could not believe my fuckin’ eyes.
Fish. Salmon. Atlantic Salmon. In the Pacific Ocean? Have you people lost your fucking minds? What were you thinking?
I mean I mix species in my stomach all the time, but you guys are playing with fire. And you know what? You don’t give a shit either do you? It??
?s all about the money.
We’re going to save the world by feeding them our diseased fish. Blah, blah, blah. What a load of fuckin’ crap. You’re just going to kill off the rest of humanity—hold that thought--hmmm…not a bad idea. Forget I said anything.
As I was saying Hollywood really pisses me off. I think those dumb ass writers need to find better villains. I mean Darth Vader was a pretty good bad guy, in a cyborg-with-a-mechanical-dick kind of way, and that Khan guy in that space ship war thingy. You know the one with the hero guy with the bad toupee. What a moronic bad actor the toupee guy is.
Now that Khan guy, he was cool. The long hair and the shirt-open-to-the-waist look just has to come back.
Then there’s the God of Hollywood. Quentin Tarentino. Now that’s the guy I need to direct my life story. Could you imagine? Me, at one with the ocean, kicking ass, with blood spurting everywhere. Wow! Wouldn’t that be too fuckin' cool?
Picture this: I’m swimming along with my brother sharks when suddenly we’re surrounded by the Kick-Ass-Warriors-of-the-Clan-Mob-Gang. We’re outnumbered fifteen thousand to one, and just as everything looks hopeless we draw our samurai swords, or maybe Uzi’s, and begin killing them as fast as we can. In slo-mo, naturally.
We knock them down dozens at a time. The water is dark with blood. And like the true sharks we are, we shift into an orgy of death.
Fins and spines are ripped out with wanton abandon. The carnage