A FISHY SMELL FETISH...PLEASE HELP! RIGINAL.
This true story contains graphic descript. Do not read on if you're squeamish.
Fishing is in my blood (see sardine semen/seaman?). Not long after i was born (about 12" give or take a nook) the Net doc told my mother unless i had a sardine sweat transfusion i would die. I believe my mother said,"good!" You see my mother was a Mermaid who never found her feet. "A likely tale!" i hear you say.
My father was worried. He had met my mum on the net...actually it was a sordid tangled affair. But mum was hooked line and sinker. On a scale of deep sea fishing you could say dad should never have entered the brine and fallen for her.
Some kids were conceived in the back seat. I was conceived aft...wherever that is on a boat? I wander, wasn't there a fish called Wanda? There i was, a result of a flaking fish desire between two adults. My parents salmoned the doc. They gave the go ahead full rudder for a sardine sweat transfusion. My mother slipped back into the seascape one warm night. My father waved goodbye. He shouted out, "i'll look after the lad, he'll be okay, you go back to breaststroke and sunning on treacherous rocks on clear morns. But don't tempt lost sailors with your siren of whale. We had a wail of a time Wanda but you must return and cavort with your own kind. I'll never forget you what'syourname. Send my baste wishes to King Neptune and may his trident remain dentless...as a bent prong could poke someone's eye out. Rather like a child trying to help its mum to get batter...only to drop it all over the oven...setting fire to a nook in Norway." This didn't happen but it could have.
Alright, some of you non believers wallowing in the backwaters of doubt are audibly scoffing. "No such thing as a sardine sweat transfusion?" I beg to differ. For example, stuff a dozen people minus their heads in a rectangular tin and what do you get? Sweat and swearing of course. Indignant hunched shoulder squashed comments like,"will you stop squeezing my thighs...and keep your fin to yourself...if i wanted some fin you would be the first to know so stop elbowing and threshing round like a sardine with its head cut off. And don't believe John West cans the best because if he did then what are you doing here in the ratpack of fish tindom?"
I survived. My sardine sweat transfusion was a success. No sweat. My father tried to give me a normal upbringing. Like me swimming round in the school pool having to put up with comments like, "that kid is like a sardine out of water. His father must have a tale to tell." As fate would have it i could out swim a headless chook. I suppose anyone could. It was my gills that gave the game away. And my back flips. My father took me aside after a week underwater and told me i was turning into a sardine and my breath smelt even though i brushed my gills with good quality 20-50 W sardonic recycled fish oil religiously.
My only friend was free Willy, who mourned in a pond nearby. i hatched a plan in the local fisheries 'under size' sardine department set up by the PM who tried to turn the sardine tin back West. West had a bad back but and a sore butt, spent most of his time in the John did John West. But i dug my heels in, paddled out of reach. One moonlit night Willy and i broke free...or was it four? I'm a bloody sardine not a mathematical genius so stick that up your tails. We swam and swam, we frolicked in the Autumn mist. Sadly, headless sardines live forever...but not so little Willy's. Therefore once my Willy died i felt so alone. A tinless headless sardine with no future. I rang the PM off the hook, but he said, "turn back the headless sardine from whence it came!" i replied, "i am a product of two different species...please pity me Mr PM!" The PM pursed his lips and his 'travel visa' wallet. He sighed, zipped up his countenance,shot back "yes headless sardine i too am a product of different species unknown to common man and sense but do you hear me bitching?...turn back and take your tinny with you!"
I retorted with a sardine headless shoulder smile, "oh yes PM you can put a helicopter fitted with stereo denial speaker on probation but you are loath to provide a small outboard for my tinny but my mother is very good friends with King Neptune and don't be surprized if you're dog paddling one day down the beach and you end up with an extra bent prong sprouting from your person. I suddenly felt ashamed. My dad brought me up to be an unselfish headless sardine and i was acting like a politician with an extra bent prong projecting from his person. "Prime Minute Stir on National news every damn minute i broke the ABC of responsible accurate retort...i apologize sir." The PM smiled and patted my shoulder, "i do it all the time son...you are forgiven. Go back to your tinny, i'll lend you my handkerchief...erect a sail and sail back to your mum and have a glass of 'seawater on the rocks' with her. Don't blame anyone for being useless...i never have."
We embraced, i sailed off into the arms of my mother. I still have the PM's hanky. He rang and told me to keep it as he had more than enough hanky panky to go round his cabinet. I'll never forget what'shisname.
The moral is this. Some people rush round with a tinny in hand like headless sardines hoping for a batter life. God Willy good fortune will come your way. And don't get green around the gills. Brush regularly. Sardines have feelings to you know. I am presently writing a book between waves...'The Old man and the headless sardine'. Hemmingway...you have inspired me.
If you find any part of this post unbelievable read some of the stupid flogging comments under this post. I rest my case...ummm, tinny. May the God of stupidity supply you with unlimited helicopter fuel...have a great sardine weekend...i just love that smell...:>)