My baby had finally been born. That is to say, Mermaidy, Queen of Mermaidia had laid the egg, and about a week later it hatched. She was a beautiful baby girl. She had her mother’s eyes. And gills. I held her for about an hour and then handed her over to Neil Patrick Harris, who I had just recently brought back to life with voodoo.
“You keep it,” I said. Then I went outside for some air.
I stepped out into the hospital parking lot a walked around a bit.
“God damn, I’m bored,” I said to myself.
Just then, suddenly, without warning, a giant crab burst out of the ground and attacked me.
It was the Sandy Bastard. Last time we fought, I had eaten him, so understandably, he was quite upset. Apparently, Horseman and the machine-gun bear had pieced his shell back together with glue and stuffed it with newspaper or something, but, seeing as they had one eye between the both of them, they had done it kinda wrong.
He grasped me tight in his glued together claw. It was his left claw. His right claw had been put back together improperly and was facing the wrong way and stuck to his back because of the messy glue-job. He squeezed tighter and tighter. Pretty soon I would either be squished or snapped in half. Neither of those two options were acceptable.
Thinking quickly, I opened my mouth wide and spewed a steady stream of fire from my mouth, which quickly engulfed the sandy bastard. His glue must’ve been extra flammable or something and the newspaper lit right up. Pretty soon he was nothing more than a bonfire.
A Sandy bonfire. Bastard.
Then Neil got impaled by a swordfish.