Knock it off, Hurricane Shark.
“DUH-NUH DUH-NUH DADDLE-ODDLE-AHHHHH!”
“I’m eating up all the childrens.”
Fuck you for making me say this, but you are fake news.
Yes. You were photoshopped, like, a dozen years ago.
“You’re pushing your biased narrative and putting people in danger.”
No one’s in danger because you don’t exist, Hurricane Shark.
“If I don’t exist, then why is my name capitalized? Checkmate.”
Not a checkmate. You are not real. There are no sharks on the Florida Turnpike.
“I’m on the Sawgrass Parkway.”
You are not. You are in the ocean like the rest of the sharks.
“Oh, keep us in our ghetto, huh? We’re fine in the ocean, but not living next to you?”
“Wow. You hear that Jabby?”
“You talking shit?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I am not dealing with any fake sharks today. It’s September 11th and I have no power.
“That’s right, bitch. Sharks got the power now.”
I meant electricity.
“Don’t care what you meant. Me and Hurricane Shark gonna eat you.”
You won’t. Neither of you exist.
“You’re worse than PewDiePie.”
“I’ll fuck you up, fucker.”
Goddammit, I am not in the mood for this right now.
“Have you talked to Katy lately? I got a call from an unlisted number and I think it was her.”
It wasn’t. She’s got more important things to deal with right now.
“What could be more important than me?”
Her single tanked.
We’re done here.