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Description
He swallows everything. It doesn't matter if it's of his kind or if it's a blade of insignificant grass; he will engorge himself.

He's been a plague to our society ever since his arrival; we've lost countless fish to his wide gullet, and his appetite is insatiable. We're now at the point of offering him a sacrifice at the start of each new month. It's the only way to keep him from pillaging our people.

For too long we've withstood his tyranny, his arrogance. This shark dies today, in the name of Tunaland… In the name of all gilled creatures.

An army numbering close to five hundred has been formed in anticipation of this day. They've spent numerous hours training, learning the attack patterns of the average Great White shark; learning its weaknesses. However, there is still one task needing to be addressed: How to approach him without setting off his keenly tuned eight senses. He may be gluttonous and lazy, but he is the first generation of his lackadaisical style, so there is no chance that his instincts have vanished. I, Escaleber, am currently on my way to meet General Gillington to discuss battle strategies and tactics.

When I arrive at the General's estate, a large crevice in the rock wall that is barely noticeable to the swimmer-by, I swim in the code-pattern to show that I am not deserving of the guard eels' hunger.

"Come in," the General calls.

It isn't amazing or beautiful, this makeshift hideaway, but it does the job. Dark and bleak, it provides no distractions for the thinking mind. I notice the General floating over an outlined section of sand, and I make my way over to see what he's concocted. Before saying anything to him, I let my eyes absorb the drawing before them: One large circle, representing White, a simple name we've given the shark; a group of several small circles, representing our army; and several arrows, some barely visible, assumingly having been washed away with a flick of Gillington's tail.

"What do you think?" the General said quietly, lost in thought.

"I don't quite understand, sir. What are all the arrows for?"

"Nothing, really. I drew them in the hope that it would spark some sort of idea, but, nothing's worked there. White has the advantage no matter how I look at it. Our forces don't even rival his size when compared. In one movement of his jaw he could decimate the numbers; I guess at least a third. We can't beat him, like this. We have no weapons other than the Piranhas, and there are only twenty of them at our disposal; only enough to give him, essentially, paper-cuts." He exhaled heavily, exasperated.

"Sir, there is no paper in the ocean," I pointed out.

"What?"

I immediately felt that I shouldn't have said that. "There's…no paper in the ocean, so how could we know about paper-cuts?"

He paused, his soulless fish-eyes seemingly frozen. "Yes…I suppose you're right. We shouldn't know about paper-cuts. What's the writer thinking?"

After several minutes of silence due to the author not knowing how segue back into fish battle planning, I spoke up. "I think I have an idea, but you aren't going to like it."

***

White was only several miles away from Tunaland. From his monthly, delicious, meal. But this time he wanted more than one. He wanted as many as he wanted. He wanted to eat until he was bloated. He didn't care about his promise. He was a shark, why should he give any regard to honor or civility?

"Fuck them. I'm going to eat them all."

***

I was in the middle of a discussion with Gillington when the messenger had rushed in.

"SIR! White has been sighted by our scouts. He's a day early, and he's coming faster than usual."

"…Shit."

I didn't like the implications carried by the General's word choice.

***

If sharks could laugh, White would be. He was only one mile away now, so he decided to pick up his speed. He saw several fish cower as he raced by; he knew they were scouts, but, he also knew that Tunaland had no real defense against him. He knew he would win his meal.

***

"Listen! White has come a day early, and we have only minutes before he arrives. We have no idea why he's come now, but it can't be good. And unfortunately, we haven't the means to defeat him. But we aren't going down without a fight." The disheartened glances exchanged between the ranks equally disheartened Gillignton; so, he added, "I know it doesn't sound enticing… Why should we be forced to go down with the ship? It isn't fair that this shark suddenly popped up out of nowhere. But life isn't fair. It's filled with mundane platitudes, with very few ever breaching a stereotype's boundary and paving a new path. So, let us go down in history as the fish who never gave up! As the fish who prevailed only in dying honorably! We can defeat white metaphorically, if not physically!"

The speech was not met by any reaction. No one was paying attention; they were too worried, too scared, of dying.

The General sighed when presented with this, and swam over to me. "This plan of yours…how confident are you that it will work?"

"Not very," I admitted, "but it's all we have to work with."

"True…"

"I'll, hopefully, see you in ten minutes. If not, evacuate who you can."

"Aye." But I didn't believe him. I knew he would stay, and I knew he would try and make everyone else do the same. He would let the women and children go, but he wouldn't let the men leave if he could help it. I couldn't stand—wait, why I am speaking in the third person suddenly? Goddamnit, I'm going to murder this writer.

Anyway, I swam off to begin my plan.

***

"Five minutes," White said aloud, laughing even thought he can't.

***

I approached the pod as quickly and cautiously as possible. I wasn't sure if the whales would see me as food, but I had to try and gain their support; and I had only two minutes to do so.

"Hey!" I called. They ignored me.

"Please! Tunaland needs you! A Great White shark is going to massacre our people! Please!" I begged. This time one of the blue whales turned an eye to me.

"What do you expect us to do?" His voice was deafening.

"Nothing. I just came to ask for your help…You are our only hope. But please, the shark will be upon our land in minutes; I need you now, if at all!" I know demanding the service of a creature thousands of times my size was an idiotic thing do—MOTHER FUCKER GET YOUR PARTS OF SPEECH IN ORDER

The whale didn't respond. He did stop, though. I hoped he was considering my plea. "Please…" I murmured.

"…Alright. I will help you. Let's go." By my estimation I figured we had less than a minute to make it back.

***

"Hello, friends. I assume this massive gathering is my sacrifice, then?" White was having trouble holding back long enough to feed his pride.

"No. We may be your food, but we are dying willingly, on our own terms, not yours!" Gillington shouted.

White didn't seem fazed. "I don't care how you die, as long you end up in my stomach. Ready, set, go!" He charged. The army wailed weakly, but they met his charge. Gillington was the first to be eaten.

***

"Stop this madness, shark!" the whale bellowed as it plowed into White.

White let out a cry of pain, and, surprisingly, didn't retaliate against the whale. Something seemed to be bothering him. Was he in pain? Yes, he must be, blood was pouring from his side. Then, his eyes glazed over. His last words were "Fuck you."

"What happened?" I sai—Seriously, what happened to the depth you started with? Now you're getting lazy with details; worse than the already lacking ones you started with…

No response. I turned to the whale to find an immense rod protruding from his back. He was dead, and was being hauled up to the surface. "What the hell is going on?"

***

White was defeated, but the whale was whaled. Tunaland's inhabitants were all eaten by his pod as an act of retribution. They left me alive as punishment. They told me that my selfishness cost them a loved one.

So, here I float. I've gotten into the trafficking business, and rather enjoy the pimp life. No police down here, but there are octopi, who for whatever reason specifically target my girls. Are the whales sending me a message? Is pimping bad? Do they want me to stop?

WHAT. THE. FUCK. I BECAME A PIMP? WHAT KIND OF AN ENDING IS THAT YOU SHITHEAD FUCK YOU AND YOUR IMAGINATION OF NIL YOU HAVE NO TALENT AND IF YOU EVER TRASH TUNALAND'S NAME AGAIN I WILL FUCKING SPEED UP MY DAMN EVOLUTION AND MURDER YOU WITH MY NEW LEGS.

OH YEAH YOU FUCKING FISH WELL I HAVE THE DAMN CONTROL OVER THE KEYBOARD AND YOU WILL DO AS I TYPE

FFFFFUCK YOU

Escaleber died from syphilis. AWW it's so sad. Fucker.

Description
He swallows everything. It doesn't matter if it's of his kind or if it's a blade of insignificant grass; he will engorge himself.

He's been a plague to our society ever since his arrival; we've lost countless fish to his wide gullet, and his appetite is insatiable. We're now at the point of offering him a sacrifice at the start of each new month. It's the only way to keep him from pillaging our people.

For too long we've withstood his tyranny, his arrogance. This shark dies today, in the name of Tunaland… In the name of all gilled creatures.

An army numbering close to five hundred has been formed in anticipation of this day. They've spent numerous hours training, learning the attack patterns of the average Great White shark; learning its weaknesses. However, there is still one task needing to be addressed: How to approach him without setting off his keenly tuned eight senses. He may be gluttonous and lazy, but he is the first generation of his lackadaisical style, so there is no chance that his instincts have vanished. I, Escaleber, am currently on my way to meet General Gillington to discuss battle strategies and tactics.

When I arrive at the General's estate, a large crevice in the rock wall that is barely noticeable to the swimmer-by, I swim in the code-pattern to show that I am not deserving of the guard eels' hunger.

"Come in," the General calls.

It isn't amazing or beautiful, this makeshift hideaway, but it does the job. Dark and bleak, it provides no distractions for the thinking mind. I notice the General floating over an outlined section of sand, and I make my way over to see what he's concocted. Before saying anything to him, I let my eyes absorb the drawing before them: One large circle, representing White, a simple name we've given the shark; a group of several small circles, representing our army; and several arrows, some barely visible, assumingly having been washed away with a flick of Gillington's tail.

"What do you think?" the General said quietly, lost in thought.

"I don't quite understand, sir. What are all the arrows for?"

"Nothing, really. I drew them in the hope that it would spark some sort of idea, but, nothing's worked there. White has the advantage no matter how I look at it. Our forces don't even rival his size when compared. In one movement of his jaw he could decimate the numbers; I guess at least a third. We can't beat him, like this. We have no weapons other than the Piranhas, and there are only twenty of them at our disposal; only enough to give him, essentially, paper-cuts." He exhaled heavily, exasperated.

"Sir, there is no paper in the ocean," I pointed out.

"What?"

I immediately felt that I shouldn't have said that. "There's…no paper in the ocean, so how could we know about paper-cuts?"

He paused, his soulless fish-eyes seemingly frozen. "Yes…I suppose you're right. We shouldn't know about paper-cuts. What's the writer thinking?"

After several minutes of silence due to the author not knowing how segue back into fish battle planning, I spoke up. "I think I have an idea, but you aren't going to like it."

***

White was only several miles away from Tunaland. From his monthly, delicious, meal. But this time he wanted more than one. He wanted as many as he wanted. He wanted to eat until he was bloated. He didn't care about his promise. He was a shark, why should he give any regard to honor or civility?

"Fuck them. I'm going to eat them all."

***

I was in the middle of a discussion with Gillington when the messenger had rushed in.

"SIR! White has been sighted by our scouts. He's a day early, and he's coming faster than usual."

"…Shit."

I didn't like the implications carried by the General's word choice.

***

If sharks could laugh, White would be. He was only one mile away now, so he decided to pick up his speed. He saw several fish cower as he raced by; he knew they were scouts, but, he also knew that Tunaland had no real defense against him. He knew he would win his meal.

***

"Listen! White has come a day early, and we have only minutes before he arrives. We have no idea why he's come now, but it can't be good. And unfortunately, we haven't the means to defeat him. But we aren't going down without a fight." The disheartened glances exchanged between the ranks equally disheartened Gillignton; so, he added, "I know it doesn't sound enticing… Why should we be forced to go down with the ship? It isn't fair that this shark suddenly popped up out of nowhere. But life isn't fair. It's filled with mundane platitudes, with very few ever breaching a stereotype's boundary and paving a new path. So, let us go down in history as the fish who never gave up! As the fish who prevailed only in dying honorably! We can defeat white metaphorically, if not physically!"

The speech was not met by any reaction. No one was paying attention; they were too worried, too scared, of dying.

The General sighed when presented with this, and swam over to me. "This plan of yours…how confident are you that it will work?"

"Not very," I admitted, "but it's all we have to work with."

"True…"

"I'll, hopefully, see you in ten minutes. If not, evacuate who you can."

"Aye." But I didn't believe him. I knew he would stay, and I knew he would try and make everyone else do the same. He would let the women and children go, but he wouldn't let the men leave if he could help it. I couldn't stand—wait, why I am speaking in the third person suddenly? Goddamnit, I'm going to murder this writer.

Anyway, I swam off to begin my plan.

***

"Five minutes," White said aloud, laughing even thought he can't.

***

I approached the pod as quickly and cautiously as possible. I wasn't sure if the whales would see me as food, but I had to try and gain their support; and I had only two minutes to do so.

"Hey!" I called. They ignored me.

"Please! Tunaland needs you! A Great White shark is going to massacre our people! Please!" I begged. This time one of the blue whales turned an eye to me.

"What do you expect us to do?" His voice was deafening.

"Nothing. I just came to ask for your help…You are our only hope. But please, the shark will be upon our land in minutes; I need you now, if at all!" I know demanding the service of a creature thousands of times my size was an idiotic thing do—MOTHER FUCKER GET YOUR PARTS OF SPEECH IN ORDER

The whale didn't respond. He did stop, though. I hoped he was considering my plea. "Please…" I murmured.

"…Alright. I will help you. Let's go." By my estimation I figured we had less than a minute to make it back.

***

"Hello, friends. I assume this massive gathering is my sacrifice, then?" White was having trouble holding back long enough to feed his pride.

"No. We may be your food, but we are dying willingly, on our own terms, not yours!" Gillington shouted.

White didn't seem fazed. "I don't care how you die, as long you end up in my stomach. Ready, set, go!" He charged. The army wailed weakly, but they met his charge. Gillington was the first to be eaten.

***

"Stop this madness, shark!" the whale bellowed as it plowed into White.

White let out a cry of pain, and, surprisingly, didn't retaliate against the whale. Something seemed to be bothering him. Was he in pain? Yes, he must be, blood was pouring from his side. Then, his eyes glazed over. His last words were "Fuck you."

"What happened?" I sai—Seriously, what happened to the depth you started with? Now you're getting lazy with details; worse than the already lacking ones you started with…

No response. I turned to the whale to find an immense rod protruding from his back. He was dead, and was being hauled up to the surface. "What the hell is going on?"

***

White was defeated, but the whale was whaled. Tunaland's inhabitants were all eaten by his pod as an act of retribution. They left me alive as punishment. They told me that my selfishness cost them a loved one.

So, here I float. I've gotten into the trafficking business, and rather enjoy the pimp life. No police down here, but there are octopi, who for whatever reason specifically target my girls. Are the whales sending me a message? Is pimping bad? Do they want me to stop?

WHAT. THE. FUCK. I BECAME A PIMP? WHAT KIND OF AN ENDING IS THAT YOU SHITHEAD FUCK YOU AND YOUR IMAGINATION OF NIL YOU HAVE NO TALENT AND IF YOU EVER TRASH TUNALAND'S NAME AGAIN I WILL FUCKING SPEED UP MY DAMN EVOLUTION AND MURDER YOU WITH MY NEW LEGS.

OH YEAH YOU FUCKING FISH WELL I HAVE THE DAMN CONTROL OVER THE KEYBOARD AND YOU WILL DO AS I TYPE

FFFFFUCK YOU

Escaleber died from syphilis. AWW it's so sad. Fucker.