Nazi Sharks! Free Sample



Chapter 6 
The Changing Tide

In the golden light of evening, the wave appeared blue that swept the voluptuous floating body through a few strands of seaweed and into the surf. As the body crashed into the moist sand, one tit knocked helplessly against the other, a symbol of mortality.
Then she flipped over with the agility of a wounded gymnast and rejoined her bootylicious companions. They frolicked just off the surf, developing their swimming skills to just a few more steps above sinking. If they had any concept of synchronicity, they did not betray it. Any childhood swimming lessons they dutifully forgot. But enthusiasm and energy they displayed in abundance. Plus they’re pretty nice to look at.
“We’re totally gonna win this!” Florence told her friends with all the optimism of someone who’s always been rewarded for her good intentions or even for just being there. She clumsily stroked her way above a confused crab and gave gravity the ol’ one-two.
“I hope so,” Betty replied breathlessly, giving it her all despite her lifelong, chronic asthma, “the prize money is sweet.”
“Yeah,” Louisa agreed, struggling to master the fine art of not-sinking, “you can finally get your little bro that cancer treatment he needs.”
“Exactamundo,” Betty answered, flipping over for a backstroke, her taut abs tensing as they resurfaced. Betty always loved her abs. She named them ‘Arnold’ after a seal pup that died in her arms once. It was that day that committed her to a life of charity, sit-ups, and nude calendar modeling.
Susan doggy-paddled around the others proudly, just as her mother’s string of sleazy boyfriends had taught her to do. She picked a string of seaweed from the depths of her DDs with a giggle. Somehow things always seemed to get caught in there! Crumbs, hair, drool, hands!
“And what’s left we can donate to the Cystic Fibrosis Society,” she said.
“Thanks, guys!” Tracy said humbly, “I don’t let it get me down.”
In fact, ever since she’d been diagnosed, Tracy had a new attitude toward life. She took joy in every day, every good smell, every funny joke, and just for being there, right then and there, with her wonderful friends in the wonderful air and the beautiful sun setting and the wonderful water! Gosh, life is great and even the disability fetishists have good hearts deep down, she was sure.
Betty gasped, not one of her familiar asthma gasps, but a decidedly startled gasp.
“What was that?” she exclaimed.
“Sorry,” Louisa apologized, “I’ve been gassy all day.”
“No,” Betty said, “I thought I saw something—something moving out there.”
“Gee, I hope it’s not a shark,” Tracy said.
“Couldn’t be. It was like a bunch of sticks or something.”
“There it is,” Susan shouted, pointing out to an approaching rectangular formation of shark fins like angry erections.
“I think those really are sharks,” Florence gasped. “A whole kaboom of them.”
“What?” Betty asked.
“Kaboom,” Florence repeated. “It’s the scientific word for a grouping of sharks.”
“I thought it was a school,” Tracy demurred.
“No, no, no,” Florence argued, “nothing bigger than a tuna can be in a school. It’s a kaboom.”
“Well, the kaboom is getting closer,” Susan noted.
“To the shore!” Betty shrieked. “And quickly!”
The girls swam frantically toward the shore, again, with a lot more enthusiasm than any real ability. An E for Effort, but to no avail.
Initially it felt to Florence like a mustache brushing against her leg, and she imagined one of those highly-amusing pairs of Groucho glasses. Alas, the mustachey brushing swiftly became a sharky biting across her pelvis. The jaws crushed and ground the delicate, female bones, rending and devouring her whole reproductive system in a single, horrific bite. As the shark pulled away, an ovary hung out the side of its mouth. Florence’s slender, award-winning legs floated to the surface as she herself never could quite manage. Her torso sank swiftly beneath the surface to feed another shark. Before he dying plunge, she only had time to say, “Swim, Susan, I’ll distract them.”
But Susan felt herself suddenly straddling a hard, throbbing mass of muscle, like King Kong’s penis. She remembered playing this game with mom’s eighth and twelfth boyfriends. Soon the game became all too serious as the SS armband flashed into her vision, memories of studying Anne Frank in high school flooding her brain. The phallic beast’s prehensile face met hers in a stunningly acrobatic move that no normal shark could manage and her torso suddenly seared with outrageous agony. Then, as her spinal cord was brutally nibbled into breadcrumbs, she felt nothing but the onset of death.
“I love you guys,” she blubbered with her dying breath as her head sunk beneath a red, frothing sea, where her own left breast and Florence’s gorgeously-sculpted legs floated before her fading vision. “I’m glad—” glub “—my last mome” —glub— “nts were with you!”
Tracy shrieked in horror and dismay. She looked back to see Susan not sinking, but devoured with one hungry chomp. If the methodical, super-organized attack alone didn’t give it away, the armbands and soulless eyes did: these were Nazi sharks!
“This is what we get for global warming,” Tracy exclaimed in well-intentioned panic.
Her contrition did nothing to save her arm from the thousands of kilograms of pressure and the millions of kilograms of hatred in the Nazi shark’s bite. With one arm missing and cystic fibrosis, Tracy strove toward shore with no more hope than a fat girl at a frat party. Blood streamed behind her in circular puddles as she progressed sporadically, the salt water tripling the agony.
Shore seemed close to Tracy, whether it really was or not. But her courage swiftly dissipated as she observed Louisa pulled apart by two sharks, her kind, decent innards spilled into the sea like leftover spaghetti sauce.
“Louisa,” she exclaimed, “you were one of the most wonderful people—Ahh!”
The pain of her arm vanished as a new, significantly worse pain overtook her brain. The jaws of evil had grasped onto her right leg and began squeezing slowly, not a chomp, but a leisurely bite. The damn shark was savoring her! It was savoring her!
Her fibrosis-ridden remaining arms and legs splashed rapidly and finlike, despite incredible blood-loss. She had no intention of dying out here, and doggonnit she was a fighter!
She thought she could feel shore beneath her. She felt relief for a moment. Then she realized it wasn’t shore at all—it was shark! A shark with a massive erection, no less. In that hideous moment of dying from extreme blood-loss, Tracy realized that shark bastard was enjoying—really, really enjoying—her agonizing death. The joke was on him, though, her final thought ran. She died forgiving the shark, just as Jesus would have done. (Maybe?)
Betty had chosen to swim off at an angle, hoping to lure the sharks away from her friends and save their lives. But it hadn’t worked. As if the sharks knew her thinking all along, the savage beasts had devoured her friends first while she had to watch in sobbing horror. She could taste her tears well, because as salty as was the sea, it could never be as salty and bitter as the tears over losing such wonderful friends.
Now she was the last of her group and the fins were all pointed toward her. Almost as in a dream, she seemed to scarcely be moving at all, despite her aggressive efforts. Yet, she was certainly swimming much faster before!
“This is how Arnold must have felt,” Betty told herself, looking behind her. It was then she noticed the ordinarily omnipresent image of her very well-developed, white rump was not hovering in her thrown-back vision. Where had her ass gone? Why couldn’t she feel her legs?
Oh!
Suddenly the fact that she was seeing herself being embraced in a giant seal pup’s arms made sense. She was hallucinating and she was dying—just about dead, really.
The sharks made an abrupt right angle and, in formation, swam back out to sea, their delicious, kind-hearted meal finished. They left the beach much more bloody and much less sexy than they’d found it.

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