If you decide to use this newfound gratitude to your advantage, turn to page 6.
If you decide to be a gentleman about it, or at the very least not be a felon about it, turn to page 7.
"You know what could use a little thanking?" You ask her, hoping that the subtle sensuality of the double entendre will set a romantic mood. "My penis."
She looks less than enthralled.
"My penis," you say again, thus making it a "double" entendre. Someday you should look up what "entendre" means.
"I have fish parts," she says bluntly, obviously not appreciating your complex word play, "do you want to fuck fish parts?"
"Hell ye- I mean, uh, I guess not," you answer reluctantly, not wanting to seem gross by participating in any kind of bestiality, "but you got a mouth, right?"
Everybody knows the mouth doesn't count for sex! That one president signed it into law, right? Taft, maybe?
"Iâ¦ OK, no. Let me take you back to my city," she says, pointing downward to a fantastic underwater kingdom that you have been far too shell-boob focused to notice until now, "my father rules this world, and he will reward you handsomely."
"Ew, dude!" you cry in protest "I don't want the gay stuff! Let's talk some more about the fish parts."
"No likeâ¦ with gold and such. What is wrong with you? I swear to god, the only reason I'm not throwing up right now is because it tends to hang around in low current areas like this and I don't want to breathe in my own vomit," she swims away, shaking her tail like she wants it. In somewhere. You're still not totally sure where.
Turn to page 7.
You manage to refrain from graphically pelvic thrusting a nearby reef to show her how best to thank you, and instead follow her down to the city in relative peace. You manage to maintain a stoic, gentlemanly silence for the better part of two and half minutes before you start asking her increasingly detailed questions about fish copulation. At some point the conversation turns to "vagina analogues" and you feel you may have lost a little of your savoir faire.
"Baby, come on! Don't swim away like that - I only wanted to know if it smelled like fish in here, or if you were just excited to see me!"
You enter the magnificent lost world - with its soaring towers, impossibly detailed mosaics of many-colored corals, and dizzying array of animal and plant life never before seen by man - and you are absolutely awestruckâ¦ at all of these hot mer-skanks in nothing but shell-bras. They regard you with what seems like equal parts fear and fascination. It must be the magic love pills. One of them bursts into tears and hides behind a wall, clearly horrified by how much she wants you. You think you might even hear some lust-retching going on back there.
"They're scared of you. They've never seen a land-dweller before with your two deformed, separate tails," your recently-freed mermaid friend explains.
"More like THREE deformed separate tails, right? By which I mean my penis, my penis," you wittily retort, double-entendre-ing that shit up.
"Oh god, just shut up. My father's in here," she brings you before a horrible...thing â it's like somebody shredded a frog and glued all of its parts on a man.
Wait... why does it need to wear the helmet underwater?
"JESUS FUCKING WHAT THE FUCK!" You cry, and attempt to drop-kick the monster but, forgetting that you are underwater, you end up merely floating sideways at it gently.
"Brrghhlll berg brrrg," it croaks to you.
"That's my father!" The mermaid yells, attempting to wrangle your awkwardly floating body away from the king.
"Why is it wearing frog skin?!" It's proving more difficult to wrestle you away than initially thought. There is a moment of sheer panic as it becomes clear to everybody that your ass has settled firmly onto the side of the king's head.
"What do you mean? All of our men look like this. Why did you think we were all half-fish, half-women? It's customary for our menfolk to ravage your sea-borne women whenever they happen upon one, and when they inevitably try to drown the baby, we take them back to us."
"BRGOOOW GRK BRK!" The king frantically swats at you, trying to free an ass-free space in which to exist. You have to admit that, at this point, some of it might be intentional. I mean, how often does one get the chance to reverse tea-bag a king? After everything settles, and you are forcibly restrained - ass noticeably pointed downward and away from all present royalty - the king speaks to you once more.
"Bguk bak guuuurrk," it croaks.
"My father wants to know what reward you seek from our kingdom. We have scrolls here with all the wisdom of the ancients contained within. It is said that they bestow a nigh-mystical knowledge upon the reader. We also have all the lost gold that every ship has ever dumped in the sea... and then we have this thing," she gestures to a corner of the throne room, where the single most beautiful object you have ever seen sits in disrepair. It is a bright pink jet-ski with aquatic blue flames racing down the sides. The seat is leopard print. The handlebars are chrome. The tears on your face are of joy.
If you take the tablet or rocks or whatever, like a dick, turn to page 8.
If you take the god-king of ski-doo technology, a steel mount of beauty and a veritable poem to the concept of speed and awesomeness, turn to page 9.
You're such a dick. This is just like you. All right, fine. You get some fucking gold and, like, a tablet that gives you stupid powers.
"This is what you chose?! You had a sweet fuckin' ski-doo and you brought me a big leaf tablet?!"
You really only use these "gifts" to play pranks on your unsuspecting friends, and though the money does allow you to purchase a jet-ski â you know nothing will ever match the one you passed up on. It haunts your dreams until the day you die. Your last words are "pink...sweet flames," which kicks off a Citizen Kane
style hunt to decipher their meaning. Ultimately, it's decided that you were referring to the "sweet, pink" love of a "flame"-ing drag queen, whose questionable association you have kept these many long years. He/she inherits what remains of your fortune after writing an exceptionally graphic tell-all book about your relationship. You wish you could say that it was all a misunderstanding, and you were really just referring to the paint-job on that one fateful undersea chopper, but it totally wasn't. God damn it all, you loved Starr Cummings with the entirety of your heart.
You mount up your fiery chariot of radical notions and tear ass out of that undersea kingdom - the mer-women loudly lamenting your absence (probably) and the mer-men permanently besmirched by your ass-bagging (almost definitely). As you break the surface and return to the world above, your momentum and great speed carry you far, far above the waters below. The sun catches the droplets spraying in your wake, and its brilliant light renders them as a million sparkling diamonds in the sky. Everything goes into slow motion and â holy shit! â a shark jumps out of the water at the exact same time! At the climax of your bitchin' jump, you and the shark high five. An explosion of badass ripples out from the five, and forever unites man and shark in peace.
Thanks, bitchin' jet-ski!
"I think he's coming around," a voice says. There is pressure on your chest and your lungs feel significantly more watery than usual.
You retch up filthy liquid all over the face of the concerned officer above you.
"My god! He is! He's alive!" The people around you gasp in wonder.
"You've been dead for 20 minutes!" The officer tells you, awestruck, "why in the hell did you flail all the way out there if you didn't know how to swim?!"
Oh Christ. It was all a near-death hallucination? What a gyp! Ah well, at least you're not under arrest at the end of this one.
"Also you're under arrest," he informs you, gesturing to the recently expelled, half-dissolved roofies.
SON OF A BI-
You can pre-order Robert's book, Everything is Going to Kill Everybody: The Terrifyingly Real Ways the World Wants You Dead on Amazon, or find him on Twitter, Facebook and his own site, I Fight Robots or you can turn to page 43 by clicking this super secret link! If you can't find it, you're just not trying hard enough!
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