Thursday, August 25, 2011

Mr. Shark has a hangover.

Sorry, no advice today….Just had a KILLER night in Vegas and I’m wayyyy too hungover for that shit.

Ugh, my hotel REEKS of stale blood. There’s gotta be a hundred seal carcasses in here, I can’t even make it to the bathroom without tripping over a dismembered leg.

I swear one of the strippers I ate must have been drugged because I’ve never gotten this out of control before.  What was the name of that place again? “Leave it to Beavers?” I blew so much cash there, dude. I must have shoved twenty fish heads down June Cleavage’s g-string, and she didn’t even seem to appreciate it. I guess it was a little degrading when I made her balance that red ball on her nose while I screamed “perform for me seal!” But she’s a stripper. If she wants respect she should go back to that college she’s pretending to pay her way through.

Seriously though, they’re never going to let me stay at the Venetian again.  The concierge told me they had to completely drain the canals last night. And that even after a thorough scrubbing, the sides of the gondolas still have a pinkish stain from “the night when the waters ran red with blood.”  I don’t know what I was thinking. For some reason romantic gondola rides always give me a craving for fresh hearts.  

It also doesn’t help that Sergei – whose half-eaten corpse is currently crammed into the mini-fridge – was one of their most requested gondoliers.  Looking at him I can understand why.  You can still see a glimmer of warmth in his now dead eyes, and the smile frozen on his lifeless face really lights up a room.  I might have his leftovers for breakfast if I can stomach it.  I remember him tasting like kindness.

Ugh, maybe not though, I’ve already eaten so many empty calories already. Nature’s deadliest killing machine?  More like nature’s fattest killing machine. I feel more bloated than a body that’s washed up on shore. I mean, I was so wasted I didn’t even realize those people at Madame Tussauds were made of wax. I ate the entire N’Sync display. Totes not looking forward to shitting out Lance Bass’s acrylic hair for the next week.

Just thinking about it makes me want to vom all over again.  I need to get some hair of the dog up in this piece.  I hope there’s an animal shelter on the way home.

Later bitches,
Mr. Shark

Monday, August 22, 2011

Mr. Shark offers his advice to a steam punk enthusiast

Dear Mr. Shark,
I'm jumping head long into this steam punk thing and I need some advice. What kind of hat should I buy? 

Maurice E.
Portland, OR

Dear Maurice,
Good to hear from you again.  I see you are making great strides since our last chat. Apparently steam punk obsession is second only to LARPing in it's ability to attract human women.  

As for your hat, I recommend the old stand-by, the seal-head hat.  I wore one to my last steam punk meeting and everyone was both delighted and befuddled.

Making the hat is quite simple.  First, you'll need to find an appropriate seal, one with a symmetrical, round head-shape is ideal. Once you have found your target, you'll need to dive down at least one nautical mile beneath it.  Then, gather up all the strength you have and swim full-force at a 90 degree angle towards the seal.  If you get the angle right, you will easily be able to remove the head of the seal with a clean cut. Be careful once you've made the bite not to sever the spinal cord though. You'll need that later.  

After you've secured your head, you'll need to gather a few pieces of decor to give it that classic Victorian-industrial steam punk aesthetic. I've eaten several divers over the past few days, so you'll easily be able find everything you need by foraging though my poo. Plus, the mixture of my stomach acids and the ocean's salt water has added a nice aged patina to the metal parts. A mask bitten in half, for example, makes the perfect retro-futuristic monocle, and adding a regulator to your seal's mouth gives it bit of ironic whimsy.  I also recently swallowed an analog computer, so if you'd like, you can use some of it's gears and assorted parts for extra flair.

Voila, you now have the perfect steam punk hat. Just place it on your head, tie the spinal cord around your chin and prepare to be the belle of the steam punk ball.

Mr. Shark

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Mr. Shark offers his advice to an aging Forrest

Dear Mr. Shark,
I'm almost 30 and don't have a wife or kids.  Should I just shoot myself, or what?

Forrest B.
Los Angeles, CA
Dear Mr. Forrest, 
First of all, gross.  What is wrong with you? By your age I’d already sired 12 tiny murderers, 3 of which I’ve already murdered myself.  Also, I gave advice about this in yesterday’s post, so I really don’t understand why you haven’t been able to impregnate a female by now.

That being said, unless you are dangling off the edge of a boat, I don’t think shooting yourself is the best idea.  I think you should end your life in a more meaningful way.

Sacrifice yourself to the ocean gods. 

I read about it in this book of ancient wisdom once. It said that ocean god sacrifice volunteers were revered as heroes because their sacrifice rid their human villages of plague, hunger and terrifying Willem Dafoes. I don’t remember their name, but it was some obscure tribe that doesn’t have a Wikipedia page or any other evidence proving their existence, so don’t bother looking them up. 

I’ll just tell you what to do.  First, you’ll need to make your skin nice and slick by shaving all the hair off your body.  Be thorough, the ocean gods hate stubble.  Next, you’ll begin a process the ancients referred to as “marinating.” To do this, you’ll need to soak in a tub full of seal blood, fish heads, and sesame seeds (adds a bit of teriyaki flavor) for at least 3 days. 

When you’re ready to enter the ocean, walk out to at least neck-deep water. You can bring a surfboard or water wings for fun if you want.  Once you are submerged, make sure to clap, bark, or balance a red ball on your nose so the ocean gods know what to look for. They have millions of rows of razor sharp teeth, so when you feel them sinking into your torso or leg, you know they’ve found you, and that your generous sacrifice will soon be complete, and your village, saved. 

But please make sure you do this before your 30th birthday. Ocean gods don’t like old meat that’s all nasty and tough.  

Mr. Shark

Do you have a burning question that only a swimming death machine can answer?  Submit it now to

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Mr. Shark offers his advice to an awkward Maurice

Dear Mr. Shark,
I’m awkward around girls. How can I be more smooth? 

Maurice E.
Portland, OR
Dear Maurice,
Since the only two emotions I am capable of feeling are bloodlust and violence, I’m not entirely sure what you mean by “awkward.”  So I will instead offer you my best advice on how to fertilize a female.   

First, make sure you are swimming in the designated mating waters, which for humans would include bars and grocery stores. Next, scan the area to locate the most fertile female.  I believe that in humans the sacks of fat hanging from the female’s chest are a good indicator.   

Before you approach the female, be sure to block all the exits with chairs, large rocks, or piles of dead seals so that she cannot escape your advances.  Then begin circling and bumping the female with your nose. Chicks love that shit.  Once she is intrigued, show off your dominance with a love bite.  I usually go for the fin, but for you, the fleshy part of the upper arm or thigh should work.  Now you should easily be able to impregnate her with one of your two penises (or is it penii?). 

Before you know it, you will have created two to three beautiful embryos, and after they engage in the adorable baby behavior known as in-womb cannibalism, you’ll be left with one dominant, murderous shark baby. 

But parenthood doesn’t end there.  Remember to teach your children well.  Specifically, let them know which areas of the seal beaches are your territory.  You don’t want to end up having to prove your hunting prowess by killing your own spawn.  I’ve been there, and believe me, it’s TOTES “awkward” as you might put it…

Hope this helps Maurice,
Mr. Shark

Do you have a burning question that can only be answered by a swimming death machine?  If so, you can now send your questions to

Monday, August 8, 2011

Mr. Shark offers his advice to you

Dear The Internet,
Up until this point, I've only responded to questions carved into the sides of fish and delivered to me by seals. But the other day a little bird told me that perhaps my advice could reach a broader audience if I accepted questions via the world wide web.

After I ate that bird, I decided that he had a good point.  And as it turns out, in between my folds of brain tissue, which is also solid muscle and teeth tissue, I have a fully-functional laptop and wi-fi connection made of solid muscle and teeth.

Now if you have a burning question that can only be properly answered by a swimming death machine, you can send it to the email address, and I will answer it on this internet blog.

So send away people, I'm all ears.  And by that I mean 300 lbs of muscle, razor sharp teeth, and very tiny ears.

Respectfully yours,
Mr. Shark

Friday, August 5, 2011

Mr. Shark offers his advice on being a bad-ass

Dear Mr. Shark,
As you can see from my neck, I’m already criminally bad-ass.  But I was wondering if you had any advice on how to become even bad-assier.  Shit like having razor sharp teeth, and never sleeping or blinking.  Can I get your help with that?

Mr. Neard


Dear Mr. Neard,
For the first time in my life I’m feeling an emotion other than pure bloodlust.  I think you humans might call it “jealousy.” What you have there on your neck is a thing of beauty.  Like fornication in follicle form…something I do while swimming, which I agree, is pretty baller.  But I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on something by being a completely aero-dynamic hairless killing machine with no discernable neck.  The neck beard is the one thing nature forgot when constructing the ocean’s deadliest predator.

I really have no advice for you other than to keep doing what you’re doing.  And maybe use a metal file to sharpen your teeth. Even if it doesn’t help you hunt seals, it will still look pretty bad-ass while you’re doing it.

Mr. Shark

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Mr. Shark offers his advice on managing anxiety

Dear Mr. Shark,
I've recently been suffering from extreme bouts of anxiety.  I just can't shake the feeling that something bad is about to happen.  I can't sleep, I can't eat, and I'm even having difficulty making love to my impossibly beautiful supermodel wife.  If I had to put this feeling into melodious and poetic words, I might compare it to being kissed by a rose on the grave. Please help.
Love Always,

Dear Mr. Seal,
I think these feelings of imminent danger are all in your slick, delicious seal head.

I mean, what are the odds your every move is being tracked by 18 feet of pure biting machine?  In fact, I find it hard to believe that 200 pounds of muscle and razor sharp teeth could even float, let alone stalk you for hours, waiting for you to unveil a critical weakness. 

I recommend practicing a few relaxation techniques.  Get away from it all by spending some time in isolation.  Specifically, try to swim as far away from the other seals as possible.  Catch some alone time in a secluded cove. Or perhaps playfully chase a fish into the murky depths.  Let loose! But more importantly, let your guard down.

If you're still worried, look out for a boat with a documentary film crew on board and get into its line of vision.  If by chance you DO get attacked by a deadly and widely misunderstood predator, the scientists will surely come to your rescue, and will definitely NOT film your bloody evisceration in HD while a dramatic voiceover describes the majestic cruelty of nature.

Hope this helps.

Mr. Shark