- Sab Jul 01, 2017 1:20 pm
On the eighty-fifth day of his crappy luck, Santiago drops his lines, and by noon, gets a bite from what feels like a big ass fish. He’s sure it’s a winner. He fights and fights and fights but can’t pull the monster in. Santiago’s leaky old boat is pulled by the fish for two days and nights as he holds on for dear life. Even though he’s bloody and beat, Santiago begins to appreciate this mighty adversary. He starts calling him “brother” or maybe even, “bro.” It’s sort of a love story if you really think about it. And like most romantic comedies, the reader pictures a delightful outfit changing montage, followed by the inevitable interspecies wedding.
But on the third day, Santiago is freakin’ EXHAUSTED, and decides he just wants the fish to do what he says and not always swim wherever it wants. So he stabs it. With a fcking harpoon. It’s a mess. Super gross. Blood everywhere. Because, like many men his age, Santiago has difficulty expressing his emotions and fears with words - instead giving in to base desires - and imposing his gigantically terrible positions on any given subject through unblinking violence. Typical.
Anyway, he straps the marlin to the side of his skiff and hits the road home, ready to act like a total show off to everyone and probably gouge people on the price. But guess what? Pretty soon sharks begin to attack the bleeding marlin’s carcass, because we all know, life is a tragic opera and just when you think you’ve finally found something good and true, sharks come along and rip it all to fcking shreds while dry-humping your dignity with their crazy-weird shark dicks. Sure, Santiago tries killing a few of them, but drops his harpoon because his hands are just as old as he is. By nighttime, the sharks have pretty much eaten the entire marlin.