Nazi Sharks! (14 page)

Edwina sat shivering in her
second police-issue blanket—she was starting a collection—and the
much superior blanket of her friends’ love and compassion.

“Wow,” Steph exclaimed. “That’s
sexy and impressive. Great work, Eddie!”

“We don’t know what we would
have done if something happened to you,” Nikki said. “Probably just
go back to school and do something useful with our lives. Where’s
the fun in that?”

The Queens nodded with
agreement. A most heinous fate without their dear Edwina.

“He was a great guy,” Edwina
answered, staring at a Q-Tip dropped beside the waste paper basket,
“except for being an impotent, shark-worshiping serial killer…”

“We’ve all been there, Eddie,”
Nikki consoled.

Andrea suddenly gasped, her
fingers darting up to her temples as she would normally only do
during Johnny Depp films. Either that laxative kicked in, or she
was getting another vague premonition.

“Something douchey this way
comes,” she announced prophetically, her eyes closed with inner
sight.

“What?” Nikki asked.

As she did, a police
receptionist burst dramatically through the double-doors to the
precinct’s main office, her eyes bulging with excitement or a
profound intestinal cramp. What could possibly be happening in the
quiet town of Shakatitt Beach now? Just how many Red Bulls had she
downed? These questions occurred to the observers.

“Hey guys!” she shouted. “He’s
here! The world-renowned historian, John Maynard Beans!”

She moved out of the way
permitting the swaggering entrance of the master scholar, Beans,
clad in his finest three-piece, cravat, and shoulder-magnifying
overcoat. He tapped his walking stick dandily as he entered and
spared no time with formalities. He was here on a mission. A
mission of science, history, and really good publicity.

“Gentlemen, ladies,” he
addressed, covering all genders efficiently, “what you have in the
delightful honeypot that is Shakatitt Beach is a Winnie the Pooh,
so to speak, who has decided to make it his base of operations—but
this Winnie the Pooh is an angry, racist, intolerant Pooh, equipped
with automatic assault turrets, night vision, lasers, explosives of
varying force, titanium skeletal reinforcements, and pneumatic
jaws. Worse, this Pooh is not a bear at all, but a bunch of sharks!
Sharks engineered by that big meanie, Hitler. And these sharks
believe in two things: eating everything, and the Third Reich.
Until we’re all speaking German and smelling like bratwurst, they
will spread over the whole coast, killing everything in their wake
like we were a defenceless seal pup named Yusef. Understand?”

Nikki raised her hand
tentatively.

“Yes?” Beans asked.

“What does this have to do with
Winnie the Pooh?” she inquired.

“It has nothing to do with
Winnie the Pooh. I was merely pointing out that Winnie the Pooh
likes honey as much as the sharks invaded this beach with a
genocidal killing spree.”

Walker nodded in a show of
sudden understand, which he shared with Nikki, “It’s a
metaphor.”

“A really bad one,” Steph
noted.

“Ohhh,” Nikki comprehended.

“Any other questions?” Beans
asked. He couldn’t imagine how further clarification could be
required, but he dared not underestimate human stupidity.

Andrea raised her hand and
waited for Beans to point to her.

“Winnie the Pooh once became so
fat from eating honey that he got stuck in a tree hole, where he
remained until Rabbit smeared him with butter,” she stated. “Is
there any chance of applying this solution to the shark
situation?”

Andrea looked around proudly at
the others, who all nodded their appreciation.

“No, no, no,” Beans responded.
“Listen, Winnie the Pooh has nothing to do with it. It was a
metaphor. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Just forget it.”

“Then how do we stop the
sharks?” Andrea pressed.

“Yeah!” Nikki agreed.

“I’m glad you asked. It so
happens that during my latest excursion into the Nazi
Researchmeister’s files, I stumbled upon some additional documents
on the Nazi shark program. I hadn’t noticed them at first, as they
had been stuck to the bottom of some lewd, German pornography. But
while getting a microwaveable snack of fish sticks along with my
delicious, homemade tartar sauce, I spotted it.”

“So the sharks are weak to
tartar sauce…” Steph concluded.

“No, the sauce has nothing to
do with it. That was just incidental to the discovery. Setting the
stage. I’m getting to what I discovered.”

“Would you say the sharks are
just dying for your secret tartar sauce recipe,” Nikki asked, “or
is that too merely a metaphor?”

“Just forget the sauce
altogether, please! I was explaining how I came to discover—”

“I don’t understand,” Steph
interrupted.

“Let him continue,” Warren
intervened.

“Thank you! The documents
suggest that even Hitler considered the sharks to be huge jerks. So
he had a failsafe built into them to shut them down if necessary.
All you have to do is play the Third Reich’s anthem at a wavelength
of 31m, underwater, within five feet of any shark. This will cause
its brain to explode like a Gallagher prop.”

“Oh, is that all?” Warren
commented.

“Wait, wait,” Andrea said.
“What’s a Gallagher?”

Beans squeezed his gloved hands
together, regretting his long-time habit of opening cans of worms
unnecessarily.

“He’s a comedian from the ‘80s
who smashed watermelons—it was his routine. It’s truly not germane
to—”

“Doesn’t sound like comedy to
me!” Nikki interrupted. “There are a lot of people in the world who
would appreciate that food.”

“Look, it was very funny at the
time, but it’s just not important to—”

Edwina threw her police-issue
blanket off, stood up—forgetting she was still naked—and realized
what she had to do. She didn’t know how or why, but she knew it
would set things right in some way.

“We can do it!” she said.
“We’re not just a bunch of hot girls, we’re a bunch of hot girls in
the best damn synchronized swim team on the coast! And not just
because the sharks ate all the others. We can get close enough to
the sharks to make their heads pop like a Gallagher, alright!”

“You have an underwater radio
and the Third Reich’s national anthem handy?” Warren asked,
stroking his suspicious, rodent chin. “Why? That’s highly
suspicious.”

“No, we have the moves,” she
answered. “We’re the winners by default of the Kevin Costner
Free-Form Synchronized Swimming Competition of Shakatitt Beach
2015, baby. You get the radio and the anthem, and we’ll get revenge
on those asshole sharks for eating our friend and my psychopathic
boyfriend!”

Beans remained entirely
mesmerized by Edwina’s naked breasts, which seemed to italicize,
bold, and underline every word she spoke.

“We won’t just kill ‘em,” Steph
added in full solidarity. “We’ll do it in bikinis!”

“I’m sold,” Beans stated.

“Well,” Warren considered,
“waiting for an army would be tedious and responsible… Let’s do it
your way. What do you say, Walker?”

“Despite all the times I’ve
wished a squirrel would eat me,” Walker replied, “this gives me
hope for today’s annoyingly sexy and exhibitionist youth. I second
the motion.”

The Bubblegum Queens all
embraced and squealed with empowered excitement as they hadn’t in a
good many days. They were on yet another one of Edwina’s impulsive,
potentially destructive missions—and they wouldn’t have it any
other way.

Chapter 31

The sea was anxious with
anticipation. Not the good kind of anticipation, as you approach
the first sex scene of a softcore vampire movie, but the bad kind.
This was the anticipation of ‘something going down,’ a turf war, a
gang battle, a clan clash—one where one of the clans is a bunch of
genetically modified sharks with lasers and the other is some
bikini babes. Soft, sedeuctive human flesh was finally making its
stand against the mindless, hideous death machines. But it’d suck
if soft, seductive human flesh lost.

The wind blew strands of police
tape from the many crime scenes along Shakatitt Beach, one of them
clinging to Edwina’s fine-ass gams. She removed it daintily and
sent it on its way in the wind, to mate with other strands of
police tape and have a family. In her beautiful, round eyes there
was only determination—and an eyelash, which she removed hastily.
Her hands were fists of female rage at her side, her breasts were
squished into an undersized bikini that transformed them into hard,
distracting torpedoes of vengeance.

At her side were the other
Bubblegum Queens, wearing matching bubblegum-pink bikinis that
revealed all their assets and their fury. If the Nazi sharks were
‘godless killing machines,’ they were ‘Goddamn! Them some fine-ass
killin’ machines!’—for sharks, that is.

Warren, Walker, and Beans
readied the girls for their conflict, strapping the radios to the
girls’ cleavage with relish. Walker first joined the FBI to kill
sharks, strap radios to big boobs, and uncover the alien
insurrection of the United States government. He was now checking
off at least two.

“Remember,” Warren told the
girls just so he wouldn’t feel so pervy, “all you have to do is
avoid getting eaten long enough to explode the sharks’ brains. They
shouldn’t even be able to come near you without going ‘pop.’”

“Yes,” Beans agreed, “it should
work.”

“Whadya mean, ‘should’?” Nikki
asked, frowning with her whole body.

“Well, my German’s really not
as good as I let on and I got that delicious tartar sauce all over
the documents. I’m just saying, I accept no liability.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Edwina
responded before the others could. “We’ve come here to win a swim
competition and kill Nazi sharks. And we’re all out of swim
competitions.”

“That’s what I like to hear,”
Warren stated. “Good luck, girls!”

Edwina nodded solemnly to
Steph. Steph nodded solemnly to Andrea, but she didn’t see it,
because she was nodding solemnly to Nikki. Nikki acknowledged the
solemn nod by nodding solemnly back. Steph waited for Andrea to
turn back, but Andrea then got her solemn nod in first. Steph
returned the solemn nod, then turned back to Edwina and presented
her with the final and most solemn of nods. They were ready. They
joined hands in a totally non-lesbian way and walked toward the
sea.

“Does a man’s heart good,”
Beans noted to the agents.

The men watched the bikini-clad
buttocks sway bravely to almost certain death and swallowed their
excess saliva.

“You’re sure this’ll work,
right?” Warren asked.

“Of course not,” Beans
answered. “Nazis lied about a lot of shit. They’re Nazis. But it
sounded legit.”

Warren strongly considered
ending it right there, but it was too late. The ridiculously hot
anti-shark warriors had already dipped beneath the waves and out of
sight.

Somewhere, deep out to sea,
behind that body Jimmy the Hand weighed down four months ago, the
Nazi sharks digested the last banquet of sluts they’d eaten. They
considered a healthier diet, realizing this sort of junk food would
harden their arteries and lead to a shorter life expectancy, but
sluts were mmm so good.

As they circled restlessly, the
Shark Fuhrer first and then the others sensed a disturbance. A
presence had entered their waters.

Sluts
.

They entered their rigid,
rectangular formation like a throbbing erection and coursed toward
their prey. The swastikas on their bellies glowed with Nazi fury
and overwhelming desire.

The Queens had begun performing
their swim routine as planned, going into ‘the zone,’ and
forgetting they were being used as human bait. In ‘the zone,’ there
was only ‘the swim’ and a few choice Eddie Murphy jokes. But even
in the zone, they couldn’t help seeing the shark fins cutting the
surface of the water and hurtling directly toward them like giant
sperms eager to fertilize something. Anything.

“Here they come!” Edwina
gasped.

“Oh god,” Steph said, “they’re
heading straight for us!”

“Like giant sperms!” Nikki
exclaimed.

“And we’re the eggs,” Steph
added. “The sexy, bikini-clad eggs.”

“Swim, girls!” Edwina shouted.
“Swim!”

“Let’s just go back,” Andrea
said. “I have a sudoku puzzle to finish.”

“Swim!” Edwina urged.

The girls kept up their swim
routine with more elegance and beauty than they’d ever shown
before. Were Kevin Costner not mourning his son by torrentially
sobbing into a pair of his boy’s unwashed
Transformers
briefs, he would have admired the perfection of their execution.
Never had Shakatitt Beach seen such swimming.

The sharks, however, had little
eye for beauty and continued toward the voluptuous prey with open
mouths and frozen hearts. The Queens’ fluid, graceful movements
made their lithe bodies elusive to the sharks, but the sharks
sallied forth all the same, missing every swimmer by a long shot.
Not only was this extremely embarrassing, but the cleavage radios
blow gushing, gelatinous holes into the heads of the vanguard
sharks like an overcooked Hot Pocket. The sharks’ hideous, hungry
grins seemed more like pervy smiles as their coal-black eyes faded
to death, happy to have their minds blown by boobage.

The dead sharks floated belly
up around the Queens and the air took on the smell of a well-done
reuben. The Queens cheered excitedly in their first victory. The
sharks were no match for their tits.

The next front of sharks were
more wily. Not content to merely charge, they armed their Nazi eye
lasers and blasted liberally in the murky sea, carving up innocent
kelp and jellyfish in the process. For the first time in their
lives, the sharks wished their eyes were in the front of their
faces. One of them also wanted mascara, but kept it to himself.