Sometimes I stare at myself in the mirror naked, imaging what Id look like if my lower half were replaced by the hind end of a fish. What sort of fish would I be? Black Sea bass? African Lungfish? Crayfish? Well, I guess a crayfish arent technically a real fish, but Im rather fond of them. Not eating them or anything. I assure you our relationship is purely platonic.
Naturally, my research led me to a fast food establishment, to partake of their fish fillets. Images of mermaids swimming joyfully in a deep fryer playfully crossed my mind as I worked my way to the conclusion that I dont like eating fish that much. And fried, no less. I try to lead a healthy life here. You have to take care of yourself if you, dear reader, want to be as good looking and sexually vigorous as myself. I settled on a hamburger.
I sat down at a table and ate my meal. How humble I felt, eating with the common people. Im sure if any of them mustered the courage to talk to me, they would be blinded by my erudition and brilliance; a brilliance so bubbly and effervescent that the dentures of nearby elderly are scrubbed clean by it.
While lost in my musings, I failed to notice that this particular hamburger was infested by cheese. Flashbacks of the aftermath of an episode involving whole milk in coffee crashed into my head. It would not be a good night for me or my toilet.
After realizing the magnitude of the approaching gastrointestinal disaster, I shambled to the girl working the nearest cash register and demanded some sort of restitution for the pain caused by the lack of competence among her fellow fast-food employees. I am a dues paying member of the ACLU! It is my right to not have cheese inadvertently placed on my hamburgers. Yes, my friends, it was time to get lawyered up.
From On the Sexiness of Mermaids