Nazi Sharks! Read online

“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

  Tits vs Sharks!!!

  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.

  “Don’t stop the routine, Queens!” Edwina exclaimed breathlessly.

  They obeyed, continuing their swanlike movement around the impromptu lightshow. That sneaky strand of seaweed was toasted into pure carbon as the lasers blasted the sea. The water began to heat up and bubble where the powerful lasers made contact. But the sharks’ harsh, rectilinear manoeuvres could never target the motions of the Queens.

  Andrea uttered a gurgled shriek as an eye-laser singed the nipple of her right tit. She knew exactly where that shark was looking.

  Before the laser-sharks could detect the subtext of free, communal motion versus the controlled, determined motions of a totalitarian regime, their overpowered shark brains burst out of their own eyes, which their nervous system had them instinctively begin eating. Not bad, actually. It’s how they would’ve wanted to go.

  The final row of sharks, including Sharkenstein and the Shark Fuhrer, didn’t fuck around. Nay, they had recourse at once to their mouth turrets, which they fired every which way in the hopes of hitting something sexy. Obviously some desperate sharks.

  One of the bullets blasted Nikki in the thigh, launching an abrupt wave of pain throughout her body. A trail of blood rose up from the fresh wound, blossoming on the surface before her face.

  “I’ve been hit!” she shouted to the others, unable to continue her role in the routine.

  “They shot my sexiest leg, those Nazi fish fucks!”

  Andrea and Steph left the routine to support Nikki, as true friends would do. They each gripped an elbow and began swimming her to shore in a zig-zag pattern.

  The Shark Fuhrer launched small torpedoes from its mouth at the girls, which missed, thanks only to the zigzags. One grazed Andrea’s hair, sending the strands into an instant coma.

  Edwina saw the danger her friends were in and determined to end it once and for all. Not just the sharks. She had led her friends into danger and indignity one too many times. That was coming to an end one way or the other. Preferably the way that involves the sharks dying and her emerging victorious with a million dollars.

  “Damn you megalodickbags!” she growled in the Die Hard moment she’d be waiting for. “I’m going boob-a-geddon on your asses.”

  She dove beneath the surface, hoping her friends heard her cool line, and swam directly at the well-armed sharks. Sharkenstein initiated his stash of ass-nitro, propelling himself toward her at jet-ski rates. His jaws chattered like wind-up novelty teeth on meth. As his sharp, phallic head prepared to ram Edwina through the womb, she jutted her overflowing tatas and hoped for the best. Sharkenstein’s head audibly cracked like a walnut before he could set tooth on her, red bubbles gurgling from the cracked exoskeleton. His metal jaws landed at the floor of the sea beside the Buried Treasure of Captain Jonathan Stink Legs, so known for his life-long incontinence.

  The remaining sharks pointed their gaping mouths toward Edwina, ready to shoot and then desecrate the fine corpse. But her powerful thighs hurtled her like a torpedo toward the sharks, her chest filling their authoritarian vision like a pair of white cannonballs.

  “Eat my freedom-loving tits, you Fuhrher-sucking evolutionary dingleberries!” she might’ve said, had she not been beneath the water and holding her breath.

  As she ran her tits right into the Shark Fuhrher’s face, the radio between them blaring the Nazi anthem at the highest volume possible, she felt the force of the explosion pushing her up to the water. The last thing the sharks ever thought was ‘Nice tits!’

  Andrea and Steph waited on the shore, with Nikki between them, for Edwina to resurface. She always had to do something impulsive, didn’t she? But somehow, they had faith she’d be okay. Something about Edwina—she just wasn’t born to be murdered the way some people are.

  “So Plan B is we send in Stalin’s army of genetically modified manatees,” Beans whispered to Warren. Warren might have commented, with his mouth or his fist, but his mind was glued to the water.

  As all watched, frothy blots of red infused the surface of the ocean. A fin cut through the froth at a leisurely pace. They couldn’t speak, couldn’t even breathe. Even Edwina couldn’t hold her breath for that long. The fin suddenly capsized and vanished from sight like a toy boat upon which toy sluts on Spring Break were drunkenly partying. Edwina broke the surface in a red, chunky splash. She wiped the shark guts and brains off of her face and took a deep gasp of the sweet, sweet air. She began the swim to shore, leaving a trail of viscera behind her. The Queens, even Nikki, hastened to meet her for a much-needed group hug.

  “I am going to sell so many books,” Beans muttered to himself.

  “And all of the proceeds will be enjoyed by the victims’ families,” Walker stated, slapping Beans on the back. “Maybe a little support for breast cancer research.”

  “That comes later,” Warren said. “Let’s get our heroes cleaned up.”

  Chapter 32

  Just Rewards

  The newspapers, national and local, had several field days with the story. The headlines were wry, witty, often extremely stupid, emphasizing the power of boobage, the evil of Nazis, and how totally awesome the synchronized swim team was. Such an odd story; it was forgotten in a week.

  However, before the excitement blew over so the world could focus their attention on the Maoist Pterodactyls of Wangablo Mountain, the whole town of Shakatitt Beach (minus Crazy Dave Sr., who continued trying to teach mice to cook soufflé) assembled to honor the babes who had saved their town.

  The girl-group formerly known as the Bubblegum Queens sat behind the mayor in front of town hall, wearing their bubble-gum pink bikinis. Why? A PR guy told them to. The mayor adjusted his throat and began his (self-)congratulatory spiel before the cameras of every news agency in the country.

  “As mayor of Shakatitt Beach,” he announced, “I can’t articulate how proud I am to present these beautiful, very healthy, young ladies, who saved our town from both a serial killer and a swarm of killer sharks, the Key to the City. Every Shakatitt door is open to you girls. Oh, and there’s this commendation from the President of the United States, too.”

  The crowd erupted into applause that sent Edwina into a flashback to the horrific explosion of sharks beneath the waters of Shakatitt Beach. A Vietnam vet also experienced a flashback and accused the man next to him of being a spider’s nest.

  “Anything you’d like to say?” the mayor asked, turning to the girls.

  Edwina, naturally, rose to accept the award, at the behest of her friends. She composed herself and, blushing, approached the podium. She accepted the oversized skeleton key with the half-clover emblem and the commendation from the President.

  She hadn’t planned a speech. She was told she’d only have to sit there and look good in a bikini. And for the nonce, that had seemed a sweet deal. She looked at the key and thought a little, and then it came to her.

  “I really hate sharks,” she said into the podium mic.

  She returned to her seat and laughed with relief, as did the others.

  The audience appla
uded—a standing ovation—and they just kept on applauding until it grew kinda tiresome. But the girls hadn’t yet decided what crazy thing they were going to do next, so they just sat there and smiled in their bikinis.

  The (Sexy) End

  ###

  Holy Crap!

  So, you’ve made it to the end of Nazi Sharks! Now what? Go back to school, major in English Lit., and write your thesis dissertation on it? Sure, you could do that. Or, you could leave an honest review and come on over to www.nazisharks.net, where you can send me any death threats you feel appropriate, enjoy some original Nazi Sharks! artwork, and maybe even buy a t-shirt.

  Thanks for reading!

  Sincerely,

  Jared Roberts