Free Nazi Sharks! by Jared Roberts Page A

did not and even regretted letting the
thought cross her mind. (“Sorry, melons. I love you guys.”) There’s
a trouper.
    But it did her no good. The
silhouette approached her, his large, gleaming blade drawn high
against the moon’s voyeuristic gaze. (The sun, alternatively, reads
the Times and pays us no heed.) He brought
the blade down, stretching a foot-long line of scarlet across
Mandy’s perfectly-sculpted back. Mandy shrieked in agony and fell
against Costner’s stage, her skin parting and admitting painful
particles of sand into the soft tissue.
    “Please,” Mandy sobbed. “I just
wanted to frolic topless, party, and have lots of sex with hot
guys. I don’t deserve to die!”
    The silhouette seemed to pause,
but he was only eyeing the hideous, wooden stage with utter
contempt for its poor craftsmanship. The knife again flew up
against the moon and down into Mandy’s beautiful abs. The tip
pierced into her pancreas and easily sliced it open. With two
hands, the sinister figure drew the blade across her full abdomen,
opening her up like a TV dinner. Her salad-filled guts spilled from
the gaping, gushing wound eagerly, but apprehensively. They fell
onto her lap and there they stayed, a steaming pile. Mandy watched
helplessly and soundlessly, unable to comprehend why her simple
desires in life should lead to this, why her pleas would go
unheard, or just what was in that particular segment of
intestine—was that a leek?
    When Mandy’s light at last went
out, the vicious slasher stooped to brush some intestine off
Mandy’s magnificent thigh. With a primal growl, he sank his teeth
into the already-bloody thigh, leaving his mark. The mark of the
Shakatitt Ripper, long-time rival of the Shakatitt Shark!
    Just kidding. It was the
Shakatitt Shark.
     

 
    Chapter 17
Even More Excerpts from
Researchmeister Sigmund Sigersbaum’s Diary, a Glimpse into the Mind
of a Misunderstood Man
     
    The mouths of sharks are slow
and cumbersome. They could never shred documents in a hurry.
Moreover, I find their teeth aesthetically displeasing, bearing
uncomfortable resemblance to my Uncle Anders’. I had to change
this.
    “Think of the bear-trap,” I
told my assistants, who were already working on the electromagnetic
exoskeleton I’d requested at noon. “How powerfully and quickly it
snaps.”
    “But Researchmeister,” they
answered, “there are no bears in the sea!”
    How unoriginal their minds.
    “When your mouth is a bear
trap,” I replied, “everything starts looking like a bear. Which is
why we need a bear trap that the shark can open and close with a
pneumatic pump in its mandibles.”
    “Yes, Researchmeister,” they
answered, fearful of being fed to my pet shark, Slice, so named for
his fin-blades and preference for some lime in his margarita.
    From my good humor, one would
not suspect I had found the Commandant buggering my wife earlier.
“Here is a real man, Sigmund,” she’d shouted, “a real man goes in
the back door and comes out the front.”
    I wasn’t even sure what that
meant, other than to insult me. The Commandant, for his part,
continued the buggery in earnest, the sweat glistening on his bald,
red head, gluing to it strands of his comb-over. Even in this
state, he took the time to explain himself. “You are too much the
tit-man, Sigersbaum,” he grunted, “and have neglected this
fantastic ass. I do not even care about tits. They are the
protuberances of cattle. Let them hang there, out of my sight.”
    I was disheartened. As much by
my wife’s infidelity as by the unwholesome neglect of her bounteous
boobs. His hands had no desire to squeeze them into erotic pulp.
His mouth no need to slather their every square centimeter. Yet I
was not the real man!
    At any rate, he’s dead now.
     
     

 
    Chapter 18
Shakatitt Showdown
     
    “Do you think they’ll even
show?” Nikki asked.
    She figured they wouldn’t, but
what if they did? What had Edwina gotten them into? Synchronized
swimming