The Tail of Moby Fizz
“It all started many, many years ago when I was a tiny ragamuffin, no taller than a bag of grain. Today, you know me as Grampa, but back then, people called me Ishmael.”
“I thought they called you Little Stinker,” said Gramma.
Don't interrupt me, Granny,” said Grampa. Call me Ishmael.”
“One day, I decided to prove my manhood and embark on a solo fishing voyage. Just me and the open water…and my favorite stuffed animal, Captain Froggy, of course. We set out on a little wooden dinghy into the heart of Lake Putrid. The swells were about 5 feet, the wind was at 10 knots, and my hair was looking particularly stylish.
“Everything was going wonderfully…
that is, until we were attacked by the biggest, most bloated, most deformed bass the world has ever known! In one gulp it swallowed us up-boat, frog-the whole enchilada!
“So there we were, stuck inside of a monster fish with the million other things he had swallowed.
‚Well, this is it, Captain Froggy,’ I said. ‚We're done for! Doomed to be digested in a fish's gut for all eternity! This is sure gonna look silly on our tombstones.’
FIZZ
“Lucky for us, Moby had swallowed a shipment of carbonated, fizzy water on its way to a circus-clown colony on the North Shore. I shook every one of those bottles of fizzy water until they exploded, filling the air in Moby's stomach with carbon dioxide gas. Pretty soon the fish started to bloat and rumble until…
Moby Fizz let out the biggest release of natural gas since The Great Texas Chili Cook-Off of 1907! The burp blew me clear out over Lake Putrid.
“But Captain Froggy didn't make it. He was caught on Moby's teeth like a piece of spinach. Those blubbery fish lips closed on Froggy and he slipped down beneath the waves never to be seen again.
“I floated for days until I was rescued by the Gingham County female waterskiing team, the Ladies of the Lake. A small, round girl about my age carried my withered, little body as we skied back to shore.
“And that,” concluded Grampa, “was the first time I laid eyes on Gramma and we began our life together, which is another tale of terror entirely that we don't have time to get into right now.”
The crowd was stunned by Grampa's story.
“Death to Moby Fizz!” screamed Crusty O'Hoolihan.
“Avenge my poodle!” demanded Marjorie Milliner.
“Where are my waffles?!” shouted a disgruntled diner.
“Aaaay!” said Captain Gerald. “Let's have ourselves a little contest! I'll offer a king's bounty to whoever finds Moby Fizz! Dead or alive or deep-fried-let's go fishin’!”
