The Impotent Satyr

"How is he so happy? There's half a castle tower worth of sand in his crack."

Brandon Wriggle left the house on a sunny Friday afternoon to head to the beach with his friends, Jacob and Gary, as well as Jacob's mother, Francine. Already wearing his wet suit underneath a "Japan Suicide Forest--Jake Paul checked in" T-shirt and some shorts, Brandon grabbed a soda from the fridge and ran out the door, when his father, Dave Wriggle, smiled at his flesh-and-blood and told him not to have "too much fun." Little did Dave know, that's exactly what Brandon would do.





20 minutes in to boogie boarding with the crew, Brandon was racing along the shore line. Upon reaching terminal velocity, the spry teen tossed his board onto a foamy wave and jumped on. The board skipped across the water as if friction didn't exist. He just kept going and going and going and going like Isaac Newton didn't know what he was talking about. "That old man never boogie boarded," Brandon thought. With each new second that came and went, Brandon remained upright, having a total blast; he was enjoying more fun than he'd ever thought was humanly possible. And then his endorphins hit a brick wall, and all synapses within his brain ceased completely--Brandon was dead.





Yet his sudden mortality did not stop his boogie board from carrying him for another twenty-six meters before colliding with Jacob, who was still applying sunscreen to every inch of his body at his mom's non-negotiable stipulation.



