I went swimming in the ocean, but keep finding Portuguese Man OβWar washed ashore β¦ What do?
Oh dear GOD. You again!
You're one of those insufferable wannabe Influencer-pricks, aren't you? Soulless bloodsuckers! Fame vampires! Your slimy kind attach yourselves to my giga-yachts in your thousands like shit barnacles, in the vague hopes that my trillionaire vigour and dynamism might rub off on you.
You're "finding" these jellyfish? Like hell, buster. I know what you're up to!
Okay. If you're reading this and you're not a rad trillionaire, you'll have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. I'd better explain.
Slimy pricks like "Brett" are everywhere. They thirst for Socials-kudos. For clicks and views and likes, there is no bullshit they won't stoop to, no glitz and glamour they won't bloodsuck. So naturally they mob us gnarly trillionaire hashtag-giga-yacht-pride fans constantly. They're like trillion-strong flocks of Alaskan mosquitoes on the prowl for Kardashian butt-cheeks. You can't schmooze at my local giga-yachting club house without colliding with at least three thousand and seven of them. They'll do anything to smear veneers of trillionaire bling across their schnozzes if they think it'll get them clicks.
These bling-veneers include yours truly! These prissy fuckers spear-tackle you, get accomplices to video you both mid-collision, then pick the exact most convincing video-frame of body-squish to best portray THEM as the glamorous socialite and YOU as the floozy fangirl!
This shit happens hourly. And with a bewildering variety of maritime tactics. And most observers would be astounded at the range of street-smarts on display. Some Influencers wield genuine cunning, sure, but most are ditsy as friggin' shit. Aren't they. Brett.
My guess is that you figured you could totally surround yourself with a vast backdrop of naval vessels for maximum giga-yacht Instacred or whatever the hell it's called, googled "warships", bellyflopped the first name you spied, i.e. "Portuguese Man O'War", didn't realise that for the last three hundred years it means a jellyfish and not an actual warship, blindly obeyed the Google AI's map directions to the nearest Portuguese Man O'War, kicked off a tremendous public Socials brouhaha about your journey, arrived beachward, and finally discovered your humiliating and hilarious jellyfishy blunder. And now you're attempting to save face by claiming you'd just "went swimming".
Ha ha ha. I'm typing this from the poop deck of one of my own Portuguese Man O'War boats, and let me tell you, they are glorious. I order them in packs of 12 from Brazil. I consume and discard four a day. God. SO more-ish. Yum yum YUM. And if you're a very good boy indeed, maybe I'll let you have a few of my sloppy-seconds-s. Maybe.