The way I understand it: The creatures get onto vessels so that they can view me in my natural habitat. They have some reverence for yours truly, no small amount of fear and (might I be so bold), a little awe.
Theirs is a strange existence. They cover their bodies in fabric, move about on a two dimensional plain and have seemingly restricted themselves to the smallest bit of the planet.
Not particularly tasty.
Far inferior to the blubbery, bewhiskered rodents that serve themselves up for lunch on a daily basis, but then in ever food-chain there are apex predators and there are light snacks…
Written for: Friday fictioneers
The siren spotted the sailor on the deck of his boat.
‘Look at that rippling torso,’ she sang. ‘It’ll be weeks before I need to eat again!’
Written for: Twittering Tales
‘You’re nobody in life unless you own a vessel sumptuous enough to accommodate a fully laden helicopter from which a bevy of scantily-clad uber-babes / Adonis’s (delete as appropriate) endlessly spill…
…Or at least, that’s the word on the street; a word spread by yours truly.
Boat building is all about leveraging insecurities.
You’re worthless without stuff!
My current arm’s race involves a pot-bellied platinum magnate, a wig-wearing premiership footballer and an Internet starlet who takes copious photos of her bottom.
As for me – I don’t own a boat.
But you should see the size of my house!
Written for: Friday Fictioneers