A Flying Libertine Drunken Shark, or Pete Hegseth’s Introspective Homeric Journey, or Pete Hegseth's Redemption…--Volume I
A Prototype for a traditional Slapstick Comedy like Airplane or The Money Pit or something
Opening credits:
First for Pete Hegseth and Donald Trump obviously overtly…
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Also Melania Trump and not Ivanka…
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I’m kidding— of course for Ivanka, too, and the whole Trump family…
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For Steven Spielberg…
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For Peter Benchley if he’s still alive…
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And for Alex Lorie for giving me the idea to have the shark work on Wall Street and dive-bomb Jack Daniels Distilleries…
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For my dad who after I told about this asked me how much pot I had to have smoked to come up with it…
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And for the Fedex Guy (an inside joke between Alex and me)…
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For Helena Bonham Carter and Keira Knightley and Rosamund Pike for no clear reason…
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Also for Tucker Carlson for desperately needing to take medication for his transparent fascism which is so like a hundred years ago and can never, cannot, and will not ever work in America, and look what it did for everywhere it has ever been tried—no different than communism, it’s impossible to make work—and isn’t it a little too distasteful like not even two years since October 7th? And stop slandering real men and true gentleman like Winston Churchill! There is, I heard, a special place in hell for that…
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For Kanye West who needs to get back on and stay on his meds too…
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For Gillian Anderson for writing a book called Want about random anonymous women’s undisclosed sexual fantasies or something beginning this massive cultural reformist project to make people fall in love with each other again before I even did, perhaps subconsciously inspiring me. As soon as I get my next paycheck, I’m buying it on Amazon…
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For Thomas Pynchon, America’s littlest known writer who perhaps deserves the Nobel (but I’m still undecided), author of Gravity’s Rainbow, which this story of mine reminds me of; as well as in memory of Herman Melville, author of Moby Dick ( that I consider to be the greatest American novel of all, hands down) that this also reminds me of; and whoever made the amazing “King Kong” with Jack Black in it that writing this made me watch the other night with like four glasses of whiskey and ten cans of Guinness…
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And for myself for being America’s freshest literary master—with still so much to learn— of obscene profane supremely distasteful extremely experimental high art and for redefining what writing can do transcending every genre and every convention and breaking all the rules and bending them to my will and inventing new ones such that generations will be unable to escape impersonating this/my aesthetic…
Author’s Note: This is maybe the drunkest dumbest vilest concoction I have so far had the audacious, tawdy, gaudy, baudy raunchy ineluctable temerity to mix. The idea actually occurred to me years ago during the pandemic where I had been drinking vodka I think in my basement raiding my parents’ hidden liquor stash down there behind the boiler, not having any money to buy my own booze yet drinking vodka and grimacing with every sip because clear hard liquor is only good for cleaning up floors and not meant for drinking, as we all whiskey connoisseurs love over-saying— where one night I impulsively called my best friend from college, Alex and had to blurt to him the drunkest idea I had ever had for a Jaws/Sharknado Shark epic, “A Flying Shark” he telling me to make the shark a financier too in a suit that dive-bombs distilleries. I don’t know how you would go about adapting this thing, but it would need to be under Alex’s absurdist oversight, I’ve decided. I will be too busy with something else. And of course I wrote the first draft fairly soused, even though it makes no difference. I’m not much less absurd, grotesque, obscene or profane sober, when I’m in a good mood…
Some extremely obnoxious quotations:
From the first “Pirates of the Caribbean” movie—
Commodore Norrington: “You are without doubt the worst pirate I have ever heard of”
Jack Sparrow: “But you have heard of me”…
Captain Barbossa in that movie too—”I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request.”
Johnny Depp singing in "Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street”— “There is no place like London.”
Johnny Depp in “The Libertine”— “I am the cynic of our golden age.”
Errol Flynn in the hilarious “The Adventures of Don Juan” (paraphrased)— “I love you.”
The woman he’s addressing— “But you met me two days ago!”
“You want people to love you for hating them—” Maddy Queenan my first girlfriend, somehow not understanding the logic of that
“You’re miserable”— Elizabeth Cronin the first love of my life
“I’m knackered!” Mercedes Randall, my combined second girlfriend and second love of my life
“Obscenity who really cares? Propaganda all is phony.”— Bob Dylan, “It’s Alright Ma”
A Flying Libertine Drunk Shark, or Pete Hegseth’s Introspective Homeric Journey, or Pete Hegseth’s Redemption, a Tale of High Adventure on the High Skies,
Volume I
A Long, Long Time Ago in a Land Very Close to Home…
Prologue
The Jaws theme music ominously portentously incipiently chortling on the high seas—correction: skies—yes indeed the music actually began ricocheting abounding and rebounding around and around the sunken, drunken, inseminated skies!
Or maybe it was The Ride of the Valkyries or it was David Bowie—God only knows, never mind not even he knows—or maybe it was the Prelude to Act One of Lohengrin, or it was the Star Wars opening credits theme—whatever was coming surely unfortunately tragically to eat all these innocent naive bourgeois commercial Americans had taste in music, swagger, good manners, was a smooth talker, with taste enough not even to consider playing its own theme from the Jaws movies…
Or was it its own— and not that of another (more aquatic, sea-lubbering) rogue!
“What is that?” An ignorant passenger who didn’t believe in ghost stories or fairy tales or even in God had the outraged disturbance to gasp annoyed, disturbed and roused from his deep sweet sleep in first class after watching admittedly a very naughty movie…
“What is it?” Someone else ridiculously belched and squirted.
“What was that? Is it a shark mom?”
A farseeing clairvoyant kid named Nicholas had the shrewd sagacity of a penetrating inuitive mind to understand that it had to be a shark on its way which wasn’t even listening to shark-Jaws theme music; perhaps it was meant to lull passengers into a false sense of six-feet-apart social anti-security, social neurotic antisocial clinical deranged distancing…
It was quiet now but it wasn’t any less tense because of it— it was a lot more infinitely serendipitously circuitously tense and dense with tense density and denser intenser tensity…even after it dissipated precipitated dilapidated, distintegrated and circumambiently circumnavigated into a quiet that was quieter than the quintessence of quintessential quietness in cold proud disdain of quietude without interlude or intermission, intermittently, unremittingly unforgivably, inimitably and immitigably and unmitigatedly obscene…
No, now things even fell calamitously into a disastrous chattery battery rickety cacophony, a chambering murderous murmur, which contingently epically tragicomically predominated horrifically prevailing, not to provoke the temper to say nothing of the hunger or the alcoholic thirst, so the temper couldn’t ideally even hear to say nothing—again—of the voracious voluptuous hunger the insatiable frustrated ravenous rancorous cantankerous hunger of whatever fish indeed yes indeed it had to be believed, because no one could think about disbelieving, because the unhinged temperamental incomprehensibly reprehensible, un-winged but undeterred and undeterrable uncatchable fish—the fish that defied gravity that defied reality defied sanity and insanity alike— defied imagination defying time and every known law of the universe known unspeakably untimely timelessly to man was somewhere, lurking smirking in the aerial depths unbelievably, fantastically fatalistically searching by swimming through air for its noonday mendacious predacious meal in the sky… It was literally the Jaws theme music now, so no one could mistake it, so the stories were true; though shy, it needed to make a fantastic entrance…
“Where’s that music coming from?” Someone with better taste now yelped in the anger of nerves rankling jangling and angling for a paraneoplastic answer to a question, she who couldn’t help but believe the unbelievable ridiculous rumors like undetectable irreconcilable tumors…
There was turbulence earlier, but no one minded it. It was light turbulence you had to expect from time to time to time. To Time. To Time. You had to expect it from the sky that wasn’t built ostensibly to accommodate airplanes to the same exact precipitous unpropitious infinitesimal Dewey-decimal degree it wasn’t meant to be hospitable to fish, especially not man-eating or plane-devouring Great Whites…
Chapter 1.
It was so ridiculous this phenomenon it hadn’t made its way quite yet to even crappy cruddy shitty, bullshitty tiresome mainstream American boring lame news media, or even to Bari Weiss to Reddit threads the stories that circulated of the reported sightings of its monstrous reportedly allegedly gimungous silhouette etched into the maelstrom of a noonday blurry white sky, blotting out the sun, fins poking and searing jutting through clouds. Sometimes it had something like a kayak or a paraglider or a hang-glider in its mouth, but even military cargo jets were turning up with holes shaped the mouths of giant Great White sharks in them, but the small minority following it was anxious it was going after larger and larger more mammoth titanic prey…
Shark teeth were turning up littered scattered splattered shattered everywhere, everywhere you would never expect to stumble bumble and blunder upon and ever find them. Often to the authorities’ unsurprised dread; unlike UFOs this was something the government couldn’t keep a secret; it was ten times more intriguing than aliens which were ugly; this was an uncommonly handsome shark. Of course the followers of the cultish cult-like phenomenon’s Sensation were unsurprised at teeth turning up in broken whiskey bottles most preponderantly, happy alarmists though they all elegiacally megalomaniacally orgiastically orgasmically were…
Supposedly it even made a spectacular offstage backstage centerstage appearance at the Republican National Natcon Convention with its sights set on JD Vance in particular, probably over tariffs and what they were doing to reduce air travel and air traffic to all but starve the beast. Trump railed ailing claiming blaming it was “biased” against MAGA Republicans because it hated tariffs, not because it had to divebomb the RNC per se— and that it was somehow a “CREATURE OF THE LEFT” as he put it, and not just a womanizing alcoholic like the Defense Secretary still yet to never-before make his beguiled unencumbered embarrassed fantastic implacable entrance.
Trump said adding shrieking and wailing it was probably some kind of government thing made to look absurdly like a flying shark. Trump said he wasn’t stupid or falling for it, because it had to be a “man of the left” and not just a compulsive pathological vitriolic alcoholic seducer—which they didn’t know yet— insinuating vainly vaguely that the libs were insulting his intelligence that it could be anything other than, if not a man of the left, some kind of “agent” of the Deep State. The Deep Backwater Swamp State of DC an elite!—when it was the libertine The Atlantic Ocean it hailed from, perhaps even the debauched Long Island Sound, acquiring its taste for bitter and whetting its appetite on the beer infinitely spilling over the sides of the power boats of rich white kids who didn’t know how to drink and couldn’t handle themselves, in Salt Valley Harbor. The Deep State meaning the spiritual animatronics incarnation of James Comey or the embodiment of Hillary’s emails; or it was Hillary herself somehow, or Iran or George W Bush— if they had used this thing in Iraq think how many American soldiers’ lives it would have spared and fiscal money it would have saved, Trump struck ingeniusly…
Then the MAGA right was claiming it invaded infesting Maralalalago, and it fucked Melania Trump who couldn’t resist it; it was a handsome thing for a shark. Its followers growing by the multiplying tens and tens of thousands, like it were just the sharkish embodiment of a trolling X account, who always loved to emphasize how it had hair, and it even looked like Trump when he was younger. It had the same glib supersmile, and good white teeth for a Jack-Daniels-loving shark; but suppose it brushed its teeth if it wore a suit. Because it wore a long tie over its well-fed stomach well fed despite the tariffs, strangling air travel, just the way Trump wore his tie. “IT’S MOCKING ME AND HUMILIATING OUR COUNTRY!” Trump raucously bellowed through Truth Social.
Chuck Schumer the sensible and sober left, though, warned it is such a conspiracy theory, despite all the shark teeth everywhere and the sightings—well they were all MAGA people playing partisan politics right, he said outrageously—we cannot allow these ravings to do anymore harm to the trust-based institutions of our extremely fragile silly breakable little tiny flame of a glass democracy that only Republicans pose a threat to! If only because of how absurd the belief was it had to be the most destructive idea yet to sober, serious, solemn deliberative progressive enlightened all-knowing, all-seeing well-meaning, good-intentioned democracy, and decency. The Senate and the whole country even the shark in the sky: were yawning fast asleep with all this platitudinous droning.
The next thing it was rumored to had to have done in its rancor for cleaning house and cleaning up the streets and rooting out corruption, root and branch after those monstrous cynical platitudes was: eat Joe Biden. Its first Democrat, which of course Republicans didn’t believe. But Biden had not been seen out of doors, and Jill wasn’t talking, and maybe it was because he was sleeping or dead in his sleep— but shark teeth were piling up and down his street, shark teeth the size of shoe boxes embedded in Biden’s mailbox, his favorite tree, his pool—his nasty dogs were all missing, Hunter Biden lost a leg, and an arm— classified documents in Biden’s garage unrecovered by the Feds went missing, a kid on a bicycle squealing documents were spilling out of the shark’s mouth he first-hand witnessing its document-stealing savagery!
It loved DC politicians. It savored political dysfunction, gridlock, fiscal issues loose spending spigots and bad Fed policy, and moral corruption and licked his lips at just the idea let alone the sight of it. George Santos would not be safe from it in prison.
The Boeing plane that crashed people now, Republicans were saying, to counter charges by Democrats of Trumps’s tariff-strewn incompetence, the shark was at the bottom of it. That bridge that collapsed in Baltimore, the shark was behind it. Not DEI anymore. This was bigger than DEI and wokeness. That shit only threatened to turn all your boys into girls, and girls boys or whatever, and limit Jews’ and Asians’ admission to Ivy League schools (Trump’s ingratiating attacks on antisemitic rank trans-Harvard being the most spectacular feature of this glorious restoration administration). Not eat or seduce them.
What was more despicable than higher education? What about lower education? Why didn’t we teach kids to seduce drink, watch porn, violent movies, do drugs, and curse and ride motorcycles at the age of three? And why was higher education so in love with progressive liberal ideas? What about no desire to “change the world” whatsoever? Why should anybody change the world? What about lusciously luxuriously describing the world in all its seedy glory while it just cut its own dick off, because it was so stupid? How about that? What about self-education or home-schooling or private-schooling or no college or compulsory education at all!
ANARCHY
The shark was known to grin and smirk. Cheekily. Mischievously. Gleefully. Guilefully.
MSNBC was loving it not only because the belief in it had to be destroying Trump rather than strengthening solidifying, and cementing Trump’s viselike grip on unobstructed executive power. But no more than migrant gangmembers killing and raping children, the day it swooped down and smoothly serenely scooped up an infant out of a chaste Trad-wife’s arms with just one handsome pectoral fin, it was bound to serve as galvanizing grist to the mill of the MAGA movement.
It would when Trump killed it too and he avenged its avenging repeated seductions of Melania.
In its ravenous wrath it was Trump’s saving grace.
It would be the best thing that ever happened to Trump especially when in perhaps an aborted assassination attempt it ran its pectoral fin smoothly suavely through Trump’s coiffed hair whooshing it so fast through the air, but so quietly, (it even gave his spray tan a run for its money, Trump needing humiliated to reapply and respray; combing his hair furiously sweat pouring down his temples his face wrought in a scowl that broke the mirror he didn’t even have to punch to destroy how it mocked him with his humiliated image). He would have forgiven it if there were time to exploit the moment for a photo op but the shy shark was seductively gone.
He was a suave guy.
First his suit was excellently tailored, a fish’s long smooth unawkward body being ideal to suit a suit. And it mystified so much its followers and experts like cryptozoologists though even shark experts were piqued, how coy it sometimes was in its behavior stylish and very handsome for a rogue beast for a savage man-eater; as far as the ladies were concerned it was very handsome. Handsome enough to have seduced Melania Trump no less and later Ivanka.
Meanwhile the insanity inherent in the incipient endemic popularity of the sensation was the envy and the scourge of all the offended Bigfoot followers and Flat-Earthers, anti-vaxxers—who all he stole their attention-seeking egocentric disordered thunder— and scientists, who believed in “science” and “facts” first the Earthers saying this was crazy, because seen from their perspective it wasn’t insane that the earth was probably actually flat; similarly people who disbelieved that the moon landing was real were clearly like the government had every reason to stage that, and 9/11 Truthers arguing the same thing—the facts and science people secondly were saying this was crazier than “democracy,” supposed to be facts-based, could sustain—it really made Bigfoot and Chupuchandra not just normal, but not cool and outlandish enough. But what was even stranger in addition to all this charisma and personality was its taste particularly in liquor—sightings were reported with teeth and bite marks in bourbon particularly the Jack Daniels distilleries one witness who worked and another who fished there claimed to see it guzzling it up from the vats and eating the barrels of whiskey whole. It couldn’t just be tariffs causing the price of whiskey to inch up past 100%.
Its appetite was truly rogue. Unlike the sharks from the movies it drank as well as fed. It probably drank more whiskey than it ate people and proudly inserted itself into the political circuit. And it flew. This shark did not just swim. All it needed was alcohol and it didn’t just not need water but it could fly, loosening its inhibitions. And it seduced! It fucked half the shit it shot down from the sky or it engulfed.
It deliberately scrambled chem trails whenever it saw one spoiling them to the infinite fury of their interpreters. And Americans loved their flying shows, but soon it would ruin air shows and start eating all the fighter jets that flew over football games. “IT’S KILLING OUR COUNTRY!” Trump thundered on Truth Social. “AND IT’S WOKE. IT’S NOT A ROGUE SHARK. IT’S A WOKE SHARK.”
Pete Hegseth as America’s defense secretary was selected by no other than Trump and the whole GOP as the man to lead the investigations and take down the shark, also for his taste for alcoholic beverages, in addition to his media personality, his anti-woke stance, and womanizing tendencies. Not without his embarrassment mixed with flattery of course at his tolerance for hard liquor plus his amazing self-engulfing sharkish even prowess.
“This entity,” he defended himself in a hearing to certify his nomination after his confirmation with Democrats, “might have a taste for hard liquor—Jack Daniels—but I don’t drink too much not comparable to this rogue entity, and people say I get around with women, but make no mistake it’s not the rumors that I drink too much or my alleged wiles with ladies incredulously accusing me that had anything to do with my nomination!” —Democrats roared with laughter.
“I am the Secretary of Defense,” he defended himself, “and on a personal level I consider it both woke and a servant of the Deep State with possible close ties to the Democratic Party!”
He was disappointed on sight on account of the shark’s suave charismatic prowess. Envy tore at him and gnawed at him. And God how it drank. He imagined with a shiver how it would be like to literally eat the women he were attracted to as the shark seldom did. Being a womanizer, it was a lot meaner to men.
Largely it hadn’t attacked passenger airliners yet. It was camera shy, despite being very handsome and having that reputation, working on Wall Street and having sort of a personality—it made a lot of money trading on the market volatility it was causing. It only never attacked major commercial airliners for a while, because it was subtle for a rogue shark. It liked to scramble chem trails for chem-trail-believers not incite massacres. It wanted to be loved, not hated. But was its desire to be loved powerful enough to slake and stopper its appetite for human flesh, especially the unwitting middle class jet-fliers?
Chapter 2
A massive jolt was suddenly felt and food and coke and crab cakes and coffee cakes flew like pigeons. Some women screamed not a lot. Wall Street traders who knew what it was up to started selling off with smug smiles. It always spared first class and carted off that part of the plane in its jaws and dropped it off on private landing strips out of sight of the debauched plebeian public picnic.
The stock market insider trading extraordinaire it was it gave a very glib, very slick smug Trumpian, Trumpish Trumpesque Trumpilite smile and disappeared into the upward clouds perhaps to Tennessee to replenish its alcoholic diet. (Doctors were speculating that what with its drinking patterns, it probably feasted on Tennessee whiskey all day judging from what looked like was the savage fury with amid which the indomitably unassailable unsurpassable beast ragingly charmingly tore like a gentleman devouring the barrels! Sharks eat a lot of things and take in a lot of fluids, but most sharks couldn’t handle alcohol of these insane quantities, not unless they were alcoholics.)
But it didn’t go to the distillery—after a second, it wheeled out of the clouds and a dorsel fin was caught sight of when a gasp was heard, and its fantastic whiskey-soaked jaws were seen wrapping themselves torturously around the wind turbine, perhaps in love once: its fury was so furious, perhaps broken-hearted once, it was a romantic, it didn't kill—it devoured people—souls—like it would rather be loved by a woman even than kill…
Chapter 3.
And drink. Indeed perhaps the water it abhorred it abhorred because it had something and not nothing to do with the fact that it was water—WATER—and not alcohol. It came from the Atlantic Ocean if not Long Island Sound where there were Great Whites because this was definitely a Great Big White, not as in a White Supremacist White, no, too much dignity and grace, tact, respectability, cultivation refinement and graciousness and taste for that half the time. The Whole Time.
This was a renegade cold-blooded fishy Wall Street Republican!
It wore a tuxedo.
The lore was it liked to gamble. High stakes poker. Attack casinos and eating everybody when it lost. Rather than having sex with some of the women, it ate them when it lost. But it never raped. It made Pete Hegseth very uncomfortable, unsettled. First it was massive. The women it seduced was an incomprehensible quantity.
The pressure on the Defense Secretary to avenge its apparent attempted assassination of Trump or the way it combed his hair and grinned glibly as it sailed miraculously suavely past him was unexplainable. It was such a gentleman and a lover despite how it ate people and children. It made Pete Hegseth almost want to try cannibalism in his envy. Because when another man exceeds you in his drinking capacity, womanizing, gambling, not least by predatorily eating the gamblers which then it cannibalized, you had to wonder if that was any good. Hegseth was jealous. He was damned jealous. He started ordering his meat rare rather than medium rare. Or he fell to wondering whether it were a good idea to kill an animal like a squirrel to sink his teeth raw into it to see what it tasted like.
If a manlier shark enjoyed it, a shark that was well-dressed and rich and an insider-trader the Feds couldn’t hope to catch on the ground— what did human flesh taste like? Hegseth wondered. The flesh of other men inferior in his appetites for women and liquor despite allegedly raping or “assaulting” one—whatever that was. She was probably a liar!
If you were a shark that ate not raped and seduced people and ate them, and dive-bombed Jack Daniels distilleries, who cared who raped or who was accused of raping whom? He admired this beast too much to kill it.
But it was his job.
It was his solemn implacable Odyssean task.
Chapter 4.
It was his lust or its love—let’s not pretend too intimately to know a random man-eating shark that got itself voluntarily exiled from the deep, propelling out from the depths to eat and kill men and seduce random First Ladies. Melania. Melania. Melania. It was love surely. Love for another shark was it? Love for the deep? Its love for drink and its love to feast on man and planes? But Melania. Oh Melania. Not Ivanka. No, just Melania.
The love for the deep made the deep despise the man-eater. It longed for fresh air. For the skies. To be a dive-bombing, Jack-Daniels-loving seducer. And a man-eater. To get a reputation as a man-eater. And a Wall Street financier who looked a little like Trump even as it seduced his gorgeous wife, smooth suave a charmer…
It really liked trad wives in their supreme chastity and their blessed virtue. It liked the MAGA crowd because of their sweet traditional unpretentious virtuousness and Trump for his endearing enduring adorable temper. Indeed it was so many planes now and hot air balloons the monster selected for its drunken abhorrent feasts and ignominious appalling seducing!
It stuck itself its mammoth shark penis in so many countless countless sexy blimps and hot air balloons—especially those alluring hot air balloons. They were so tight they were almost like resembling Melania’s cunt when it made its entrance. Imagine how that First Lady’s cunt had to taste! (Just because it’s the First Lady’s. Just because she’s Trump’s wife!)
Who wouldn’t?
Trump was a very baroquely vulgar tawdry man, but he had good taste in women, didn’t he? How his administration is filled with beautiful women? Why didn’t left borrow from any of that? It might help them not lose every single election because of how ugly their un-fun Jew-hating wokeness is.
Chapter 5.
Shark particularly Great big White shark experts were unable to debate whether or not it were possible how a Great White sometimes could gather the force and momentum to leap out of the water in catching fish and seals, let alone dive-bomb kamikaze-like out of the water with no apparent need of the water in exile of water, because of obscene Love somehow: distilleries and guzzling up everything in the vats…
For one, it was a source of instant fascination to the Defense Secretary who was condemned to inspect so many mangled tangled planes now with these huge shark-shaped holes in them. Because Hegseth had never been in love, but somehow he knew this indubitable enigmatic suave master of suaveness and suave charismatic charm and charisma—how could this man-eater and Trumpian Trump-like seducer, who was cast abruptly arbitrarily out from the loving unlovable sea, from shark’s paradise, who subsisted on alcohol, primarily almost purely without water, because all it needed was alcoholic alcohol as a substitute for water—how could it but be in love?
Its wreckage in its wake was electrifying if it was terrifying. Its trail of destruction was heartbreaking. How many men’s lives it took and women’s hearts it toyed and played with seducing. Nothing could sate its violent ravenous passionate hunger for women and man-eating. It even made sense how it didn’t just nihilistically kill people —it had to eat them to sate its hungry heart, eat them whole. This was why in the beginning there were not many witnesses. It ate all of them.
Nevertheless the president wanted it dead before the Fourth of July with all the airshows and fireworks it might eat and spoil and ruin. Trump thundered on TS,
“THIS AERIAL LEVIATHAN IS RUINING OUR COUNTRY!”
You wouldn’t think Trump had those words like aerial or leviathan (let alone both) in his vocabulary, but he’s full of surprises. Isn’t he?
The president wanted it dead. It ran its immensely infinitely seductive seducing pectoral fin through Trump’s hair after all even rotating on its axis and politely suavely combing Trump’s hair with its dorsal fin.
A Wall Street man through and through dyed-in-the-wool, a red-blooded all-American Wall Street man and an alcoholic and a seducer!
With his inimitable irrepressible master-of-the-universe glib smile with his great big dimples that couldn’t run deeper than pins into the sides of his face.
Chapter 6.
It liked to eat little children, the sweeter and nicer and the more moral the better and pets—it loved pets! Well before illegal alien Haitians could get their hands on them! Damn them those impudent hungry voracious witchcraft-practicing Haitians!—the pets the Feds absurdly let you bring on board with you now, after it dive-bombed enough Jack Daniels distilleries, gussying, guzzling, and guffawing up all the sour mash to slake the unslakable thirst of all the just recovering alcoholics in the whole entire world.
It liked to bite off particularly the head of a commercial aircraft and tip all those middle class comfortable commercial passengers and vacationers and visitors, ladies doing their make-up, trans people liberals and conservatives alike woke and MAGA, unsparing of any and every American in its ravenous voracious hunger to feed and feed and feed, and all those Jack Daniels mini bottles they served on planes and Woodford Reserve and Glenlivet, and not eating the airplane food, because it was too classy and suave for it—too much of a seducer for it—tipping all these “passengers into its carnivorous jaws—the pretty women it didn’t eat so much as seduce… It was a handsome beast. Handsome for a great white “aerial leviathan” as Trump flourishingly complimentarily put it. Trump a more civilized barbarian than anyone was ever willing to give him credit for.
It tipped planes into its jaws like tall skinny glasses of beer you could open-throat to polish off. It didn’t so much eat a plane full of passengers as engulf by drinking it! This gorgeous aerial leviathan gorged itself! Gorged itself on Americans and especially corruption in DC. It drained the swamp so Trump didn’t have to or have to talk about having to. Seducing Melania Trump draining itself inside Melania Trump. The mesmerized defense secretary could see right away then this wasn’t so much a man-eater or even a heavy drinker, not as much as a hopeless hapless helpless romantic who perhaps didn’t fall in love with the deep so much as the whiskey ashore. Maybe someone spilled some whiskey in the water once in Long Island sound and that was enough to tickle its romantic interest more enticed by the whiskey even than the First Lady, though or before rather it became a Wall Street impressario, a lothario, an aficionado a guy who traded on the market volatility he caused insider trading with his smug glib friends in first class whom he always spared.
To Hegseth he was the model of a tortured alcoholic neurotic seducing soul, who made more than him, nailed the First Lady almost inevitably inextricably the shark couldn’t even pull its massive shark penis out, like he rammed her a thousand times, and somehow he always got the Jaws music to play ricocheting in the sky before his next sordid humiliating shark attack!
He was ten million thousand times superior to Jaws from those stupid movies. He was no ordinary shark. He was a flying soaring shrieking heavy-showering one. He was very clean and very handsome, and very adorable and cute. He sounded dive-bombing like those buzzing German planes in Hitler’s air-force the Luftwaffe—did you know that they put those buzzing things on the planes to make them more intimidating? The Nazis were so sick and grotesque. But smart; well not really to the extent that you could hear them coming and turn and shoot them right down out of the sky, because style always sacrificed practicality—Hegseth’s very very rightwing soul bristled with shitting envy at first over its: sexual prowess, its style, its capacity for liquor being an alcoholic rogue gigantic humungous shark, but most of all its broken heart, shattered in a million pieces spread all throughout America even the Nevada desert. And its loathsome insidious infernal eternal lust for Melania. Oh Melania. Melania. You fox. It especially enjoyed devouring children and everyone’s cute dogs. Dogs that weren’t cute it didn’t eat. The same with children. Women who weren’t attracted to him he seduced. The women who were attracted to him he didn’t seduce so much as just eat. Well it depended actually. The ones who were too attracted to him he just ignored. No point in that; even if he were attracted to them.
Sports anchors and tv news anchormen and anchorwomen (of course) he liked for breakfast after a hungover morning to cure his hangover. And anyone who came on tv for any kind of interview he gobbled up. As soon as they put make-up on the guy or the girl and the person started articulating himself or herself for the camera, he was poised to strike… Any media personality he gobbled up. This was why the news about him didn’t reach the mainstream lame news media. It was personalities of all kinds—it triggered his carnal libidinal alcoholic suave carnivorous appetite. The president was furious.
“IT’S KILLING AMERICA!” he barked through Truth Social.
Whenever Trump said that now it cruised through meaning right over his head and breezed and combed blowing through his outraged hair, whether with a subtle wave of the pectoral fin in a pat slightly demeaning slightly condescending unapologetically theatrically suave gesture, or full on rotating handsomely on its axis to give him the caressing dorsal fin.
“PETE KILL IT!” Trump cried. “KILL IT! IT KEEPS FUCKING UP MY HAIR! IT’S MOCKING ME! IT’S MOCKING AMERICA!”
“It combed it for you,” Hegseth murmured to himself.
Nevertheless Hegseth was mustering muttering and marshaling everything he technically could to kill the stupid dumb brute.
But after enough whiskey the sharkish rogue was disappearing into the clouds and the night or the morning or the noon serenely, flying too high to see disquietingly dodging all these massive tracer bullets and missiles, because it didn’t have time for it, it had its own affairs, being a cunning cheeky seducer and a drunk to attend to. It’s own megalodon business…
To be continued in an upcoming sequel, entitled “The Leviathan of the Skies” in this epic shark cinematic franchise where Pete Hegseth attempts to starve the beast by temporarily shutting down whiskey distilling across the country, not without controversy or implications for the president’s approval ratings… Anything to “save America” and stop this rogue! And its starts gorging itself on Democrats and then spitting out the woke ones with stomach upset, and Democrats start accusing it of being a Russian mole, with ties to Russia and indict it for stealing Biden’s stolen classified documents and eating Biden and more…