Holy mackerel, what a week! Every news and pop culture site I perused had a story about The Discovery Channel’s Shark Week. Friends posted about it on Facebook. Twitter was abuzz with Shark Week tweets. People were hosting Shark Week 25th Anniversary parties. It even found its way onto Pinterest. Apparently, last week promised to be one epic moment in history. Unfortunately, The Discovery Channel is not in my current cable lineup. What was I to do? I, too, wanted to commemorate this heart-stopping ode to oceanic killers. So, I took matters into my own hands and devised ways to add shark-ness each day. Here’s how I celebrated Shark Week:
I styled my hair in a slick, wedged, heavily-sprayed pompadour.
I went to local swimming pools and, while doing the breaststroke underwater, sought visitors with tan lines and open wounds.
Each time strangers reached out to shake my hands upon first meeting, I had to fight the urge to chomp into their arms.
I visited Petco and nonchalantly helped myself to the seahorses and clownfish in their tanks.
I yawned and accidentally ate several tiny winged organisms that flew into my mouth.
I pimped my silver-gray Mazda 6 to include a set of hydraulic jaws and personalized plates that said ‘IBITEU.’
I invited my friends over for chum and Cokes.
I went on a feeding frenzy, which required me to make several trips to Ralph’s to buy Starkist tuna.
I developed an affinity for black wetsuits.
I found myself vomiting more than usual.
I listened to a lot of Seal, which was promptly followed by intense cravings for fat.
It felt as if a second row of teeth was growing behind my first row. Must have been the hallucinogens.