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SUPEREGO
chris-littlechild - October 9, 2012
The Great White Shark has attained a formidable and egregious reputation as one of the most horrifying denizens of the planet (a recent -and entirely fictitious- poll indicated that only teen pop wiener/general waste of semen Justin Bieber elicits more projectile-vomiting, middle-finger-raising contempt). These angry bastards can exceed a gargantuan 20 feet and 4,200 pounds of unadulterated I CHEW ON YOUR FACE toothtastic violence, like ballistic missiles forged from hate and fishy death.
Their notoriety as man-masticating monstrosities was certainly exacerbated by the antics of acclaimed movie maestro (and possessor of the finest beard in Hollywood) Stephen Spielberg. Jaws, as all us studly guys with cannonball-esque dangleberries will surely attest, was a blockbuster of rampant masculinity. When the behemoth shark therein acquired a penchant for devouring skinny-dipping women ("It was an accident. I only approached for a quick nork-ogle," quoth he, "and the next second, she'd disintegrated into a ghastly mess of blood-leaking unpleasantness and a couple of fingers." We've all been there) and small children on garishly-colored inflatables, the Orca was dispatched to stab the huge bastard in its massive fish bollocks.
There was nary a bra aboard the vessel, no shoe stores or Lifetime TV or extensive discussions of feelings. Instead, the manly-man-dudes of the crew engaged in penis size/shark scar comparisons, and such chicanery as whose B.O is the worst contests.
Perhaps just the latter, it's been several alcohol-infused years since our last viewing.
Hastening back aboard our meandering train of thought (lest it derail and explode on a mountainside like something from Die Hard), though, even fisherman/part-time Professor of Sideburned Badassery Quint was consumed in Jaws. A professional hunter of these bitches thinks nuts to that, I'm going home for a wank upon beholding its true fearsome majesty. All of these atrocities, mark you, were accomplished by a piteous rubber facsimile of a Great White Shark, essentially an immense condom with teeth.
But what of the beast in real-life, unfettered by novels, movies and models that emerged from Spielberg's rectum? Humans are infrequent prey indeed for this 'man-eater', which possesses a greater proclivity for chewing on the ballsacks of unsuspecting seals and suchlike. This isn't to say that there haven't been limb-rupturing, piss-spreading assaults, alas. the very existence of sharkattacks.com attests to this (and, incidentally, proffers such charming taglines as ‘A shark dragged a man from his friend's arms and killed him Tuesday off Australia's southern coast, officials said' for our delectation. HOLY SHIT IN MY GRANDMOTHER'S MOUTH, officials also said. Except they didn't).
As is oft stated, the Great White generally mistakes us for something far more delectable. Even the paunchiest of people don't appease these bastards' lust for blubber. Too many bones. Would you voluntarily jeopardize your teeth by gnawing upon a fresh-from-the-refrigerator candy bar? You would not. Cousin Norman does, but he has a penchant for holding conversations with his shoes, so his opinion is invalidated.
While decidedly not the insatiable man-eater that the movies portray, the OH BALLS factor of these mothers is irrefutable. How long did it take you to go back in the water? The sight of one, while sucking your gut in and floundering about in your ballbag-bulge speedo, is sufficient in and of itself to warrant a 9 out of 10 on the Manimals meter.
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