**By reader request, I’m reposting this article from the last Kings-Sharks playoff series. I had forgotten about it, but reading it over again I am reminded that I must find a cure for writing during REM sleep. This is a big bowl of What The Fuck. So for those that enjoyed it the first time around, and those who have joined us here since, here ya go… **
I woke up early this morning. I sniffed at the air, my nostrils pulsating with disgust and confusion. I scrambled out of bed and searched for the source of this foul stench. Round and round my home I went, this way and that, my normally desensitized olfactory leading me ultimately to the toilet.
I edged my way into the bathroom, barely capable of progressing closer to what must surely have been worst thing I have ever had the misfortune of smelling. It was so bad My eyes were watering, my mouth drying, my stomach churning. I approached the toilet, lifted the lid and peered inside.
What did i see?
That’s right, it was a teeny tiny little shark.
It looked up at me with it’s Soulless eyes. Instinctively I said to myself “How the hell did you get in there?” when to my surprise, this little critter, this nasty, filthy wad of slimy flesh spoke back.
“I’ve been stuck here for days,” it said.
Before I could process how ridiculous this situation was, I was having a chat with this guppy.
“Where did you come from?” I asked, “There aren’t supposed to be any sharks in Los Angeles.”
“I came from up north, From waters not too far from here, though vastly different in nature.” said the Shark.
“Up north? You mean like Canada?
“No, not that far north. Do I look like I have my own nose jammed firmly up my ass?” it promptly retorted, clearly offended by the accusation.
I laughed. The shark smiled. We were starting to get along, me and my little fishy interloper.
“My apologies,” I said, “so if you aren’t from Canada, where are you from?”
Silence fell. My smile turned slowly to a frown. Every crease in my forehead prominently curdling. The Shark was still smiling. I became suddenly aware of a certain smugness about this measly little creature. It began to swim around the bowl, dancing through the water in circles, endless circles. I could have sworn I even heard it chuckling through the splashes of the tiny waves it made.
“So you are a San Jose Shark. I’ve heard of your kind.” I said.
It came to a halt and smirked up at me as it spoke, “Only goods things I hope.”
“Far from it. They say you are an unpleasant species. They say you are a futile breed.”
“Futile?” it asked.
“Hmmm,” said the San Jose Shark, “I don’t know what that means.”. And it began to swim around in circles again.
“It means without purpose,” I informed the ignorant Shark. “It means that your kind acts with no result. That you work without payoff. You keep trying, keep moving your little fins forward, but never seem to get anywhere.”
It kept swimming, round and round, trying to understand but all the while failing to realize how right in front of my face it acted upon the description which it could not comprehend.
Finally it stopped and again it spoke to me. “Futile, I think i get it. That’s hella mean.”
There it was. The San Jose calling card. That silly, meandering phrase for the childish and the illiterate.
“Hella.” I repeated, a clear disdain in my voice.
“Yeah, hella,” it said sarcastically “don’t you know what that means?”
This little shark was really starting to get on my nerves. It had overstayed it’s welcome.
“Of course I know what it means. It means that you need to leave. It means you have been rooting around my plumbing for days, wandering as if this was your own home, taking liberties with my house the same as you take liberties with the English language. Hella. It’s a pitiful word, though I will use it once, and only once. I’m going to hella flush your ass down this toilet.”
And as I reached for the lever the Shark sprang up, pleading for it’s life.
“Please, oh please, King of this castle, do not flush me down the toilet. I am sorry for intruding. I was swimming along in my way and I got lost. I found myself here and I did the only thing I know how to do, I kept swimming. I had made so much progress, gone so far. I was finally going somewhere, I couldn’t stop. I’ve swum in circles for so long and your land offered so much promise, so much opportunity. But then I found myself stuck here. Please, help me.”
With my finger slightly depressed upon the lever, I eased. My rage subsiding as it was replaced with a much more devious emotion.
“Ok, ok. You win,” I said slyly. “I’ll let you live, pitiful little being that you are.”
“Thank you oh thank you!” beamed the Shark. “Anything I can do for you, you just let me know.”
“Actually, I wouldn’t want my reputation as a generous host to go unnoticed. Be my guest. Come to dinner tonight. We would love to have you.”
“That’s hella nice of you, sir! You’re far too kind.”
“Now off you go. Be on your way,” I said with a wink, “Dinner starts at 7:30pm.”
“I’ll be there.” said the Shark and with that, he swam down the drain and out of my sight.
Little did the vagabond from San Jose know that tonight, we are serving Shark fin soup in this castle.
GO KING GO
Categories: L.A. Kings News