New Shark Fin Titled

Dauna, the shark goddess, feeling all sharky an’ shit, partied as she snapped and slashed at MacHeath’s crew. Suddenly, the entire cannibal crew of the Vinnie Maru, following the example of their crazed leader MacHeath were involved in a defiant bird-finger flipping frenzy. All were screaming:

“Son of a bitch!”

“दुष्ट!”

“κάθαρμα!”

“Drittsekk!”

“Figlio di una cagna!”

“זון פון אַ הור!”

“王八蛋!”

Cannibal heads rolled across the deck, knocking other cannibals over the railings like bowling pins.

Within seconds, Dauna had destroyed all but Captain Debas and…Where’s that yellow-belly MacHeath?

Above the thunder and wind, their fellow half -timbered agent T.K. toppled upon Captain Debas. The two struggled, stood, and tumbled over the railing, the captain defiantly and prominently displayed his yata yata yata blah blah blah for the last time.

Bernie slid backward, covering himself with the blue tarp while trying to avoid Dauna, the shark goddess’ lethal teeth, tail and toxic Tourettes that would make old Barnacle Bill, himself blush.

Bernie would never forget looking into Dauna’s deep brown eyes. “Don’t!” he pleaded. Her eyes were staring directly through Bernie’s while he tried in vain to back away and slipped into the unforgiving metal gunwale, hitting his head. Bernie was nearly unconscious when Dauna,—Sorry about this, sailor— bit into his groin. Snap!

“Chomp, chomp! (“No, I didn’t change his religion,” Dauna would later tell Frankie. “It was only a nibble.”)  That was the last thing that Bernie heard that afternoon, except when Dauna went into another obscenity-laced discourse on the benefits of public mastication.

 

Delirious, Bernie awoke inside of one of the ship’s cabins to the smell of cigarette smoke. A baritone voice repeated as if in a song, “You’re safe now. Are you still with us?”

Frankie had packed Bernie’s groin area with a rank poultice made of pulverized sea stars and seaweed peeled off of the Vinnie Maru’s giant nets.

Bernie had peeked at one point. What the hell is Frankie knitting down there? A sweater? And why is he smoking and sipping a cocktail while he’s OUCH!?

“Stay with me, pal. C’mon, buddy boy? You shouldn’t be wearing bloodstains after five, Clyde. Life’s too short to dress like a shark attack victim.”