It was humid, and Billy drove fast, so the air was solid and snapped and growled and would not give way until Billy punched the wind in its dick; it was smooth sailing after that.
The boat was named the SS Oceanfucker and Billy was her captain.
From astern, the sound of an inappropriately dressed Jew vomiting can be heard.
“Billy, I threw up on my boots and giant headphones!”
“Well, who told you to wear that shit on a boat, man?”
“These are my clothes!”
“Whatever. Don’t puke in the chum. Wait, actually: puke right in the chum. Fish love puke.”
“Yeah, that’s the other thing, chief.”
“Don’t call me chief.”
“Why do we have chum? We’re going diving. We don’t even have any fishing poles.”
“Benjy, this is not easy to say, but–”
“Goddammit, you’re gonna feed me to sharks.”
“–we’re gonna feed you to sharks.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Hey, man: you’re the one with the Lazarus act. If you stopped coming back from the dead, I’m stop killing you. I’m not a monster.”
“So, if you ever kill me and I remain dead, you will not kill me again. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Fine. I’m taking a couple of those sharks with me.”
“Oh, no: we brought handcuffs.”