Dauna the Fijian Shark Goddess while in her human form, wanted to read Interpol agent Bernie Benedict (aka Cupcake) a story…

Shark Fin Soup — 2020

“Eric was a particularly evil Viking,” The 3000-year-old goddess Dauna recited. “I’ve got the original Viking text right here. The tale is ‘Den Lille Dragen Båt Som Kunne.’ In English, that translates to ‘The Little Dragon Boat That Could.’”
“Is that book is made of real gold?” Bernie was impressed.
“Sure. Sit, my lutefisk. Lay your horny helmet upon my lap.”
What did she just say?
“Tell me what happened to your lip? Kissing another sexy fish besides your little Dauna?”
“Goldie, my goldfish. She attacked me. I had this feeling that your arch enemy, Edwin MacHeath, set my own pet against me! Goldie jumped out of the tank and bit me on the lip when I was leaving the house.”
“Goldie? Your little Goldie? Goldie Geller? That BITCH! Jesus.”
“Yeah! Jesus was there too (Bernie talked to Jesus on a regular basis because the Messiah wanted Bernie to set him up on a date with one of goddesses that he knew).

“Maybe, Jesus was mad it because I’d walked out on him, late for work. And, to tell you the truth, last night, I was given another ‘physical’ by your ‘trusted’ friend, Artemis. I should probably report her to the Olympus Medical Board.”
“Short skirt?”
“Barely there. Ow (Bernie’s injured flunkerwagger was throbing in pain).”
“SLUT! Sorry.” Dauna moved to the far end of the couch. “It’s okay, Cupcake. Come here, my gold fish warrior. Rest your head.”

Bernie cautiously stretched his tired, hairy, lumpy body across the (barely tolerant) couch to lay his head upon the goddess’ soft thigh. Bernie closed his eyes as Dauna stroked his hair. Dauna’s gentle breathing made him feel as if he were rocking on a boat beneath the stars. He snuggled into her warm welcoming lap. Dauna’s ‘scent’ was now fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. Bernie was calming down (ha ha).
Dauna reached over Bernie, toward the coffee table to grab the ancient book. Somehow, carelessly, she brushed her barely covered nip across his lip. “Oops. Ooh, you poor boy.” She placed her bottle of salt water (she had to drink the stuff regularly while on land) on Bernie’s lap. His pain crested then subsided. “Now, close your eyes and open your mouth. I’ve got something for my good boy — while I read to you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re still fidgeting. I said, eyes closed, mouth open. Wide, like a grouper.” Bernie was expecting a lollipop or an aspirin. Instead Dauna placed the same thinly covered breast across his mouth, thinking that it would be ‘the civil thing to do.’ Maybe this will finally calm-him-the-fuck down.

“Catch of the day, huh, Bernie? Now, do you promise to stop fidgeting? Put on this bib.”
“Whugamuh?”
“You’re drooling…”

So, what’s the big deal About Nommy Nommy Nummy Noms?
That evening, the tall, beautiful Moon Goddess, Artemis and Bernie’s ex-cat Bomba roared up onto the muddy lawn of Bernie’s rented bungalow in Santa Monica with a load of Artemis’ freshly captured handbags in the backseat. ‘Artie’ parked the Barracuda. She had an urgency about her—something very important to show the sleeping Bernie. The door was unlocked—once Artie had twisted off the knob.
Moonbeams were streaming through Bernie’s window when he felt his thighs impacted. Artemis had pinned him down as if he were a specimen. Her smooth knees were on his shoulders. As she stared at Bernie coldly, Bomba the cat had dutifully taken his place next to the door as if to prevent his ex-can opener’s escape. Bernie had no intention of going anywhere; he was quite content where he lie.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Don’t you dare move a muscle, hot shot,” said Artemis. She reached behind her and flicked Bernie’s injured flunkerwagger (Imprisoned and injured wiener) with a long fingernail. “That oughta wake you up, suckling pig.”
“Damn! What was that for?”
Artemis was a little ticked off over Dauna’s boasting and breastfeeding of Bernie. “It’s just unfair. As a viiiiiirrrrgin, I have these rules I must abide to. That tramp has none. Is it true that Dauna nurtured you like an infant?”

Excerpt From: Fred Barnett. “Shark Fin Soup 2020.” Amazon & Apple Books.