Jim loved a prank as much as the next guy, provided the next guy was Steve-O, Johnny Knoxville, or one of the other less-relevant Jackasses. What Jim saw in the artform was the casual cruelty of the world. You could hear it in the post-prank laughter! The in-your-face explosion of yuks. The world could make a mockery of anyone, and right now, that anyone was Jim.
He idly flicked through pranks on YouTube, laughing at some, scoffing at others. With a flick of the wrist, he dismissed some hackneyed pretender. Then, the algorithm served up its next recommendation: Fishmen versus Fisherman.
Jim’s eye size tripled, his jaw dropped in shock. “You!” he screamed, wondering if the joke was somehow on him. “YOU!” he repeated, gazing at the mocking smiles of the creatures. “If you think you can escape me,” Jim roared, “then you don’t know Jim “The Money” Devereaux.
Jim restarted the clip, watched it once, twice, a third time. He had to admit that the creatures were grade A pranksters, but their pranking prowess was not the priority—not now! Jim began scanning the background for clues, and on the seventh view, he had it! He’d recognise that rocky outcrop anywhere, Medlands Beach—where he’d stayed so many times as a child.
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I’m coming for my exclusive, typed Jim “The Money” Devereaux. He smiled, posted the comment, and booked a flight for the next morning.
***
Jim glanced at the pilot, who appeared to be a prepubescent boy. Any pilot worth his salt, thought Jim, should have the decency and actual ability to grow a moustache—a luxuriant one, too, a moustache like Jim’s! After all, no one wanted to be piloted by a child. It was unnerving, and Jim was justifiably unnerved.
He needn’t have worried. The baby-faced pilot came from an aviation-obsessed family and had already clocked up thousands of hours of flight time. The youth flew the plane straight and true, all the way to Great Barrier Island, where he executed a flawless landing—proving, once and for all, the age-old maxim: you can’t judge a pilot by its cover.
Jim stooped as he exited the rickety old plane, gazing over at a sleek and magnificent jet. Now there was a craft that ran on money! A craft worthy of a man like Jim. He ogled the jet like a prize as it taxied up the runway. Who would deserve such superstar treatment? Who else but…
THEM!
“No!” Jim exclaimed as he saw the face of a fishman framed in the jet’s tastefully designed window. “No!” he shouted, his legs kicking into action. “No!” Jim thundered, as he lunged forward, cursing and screaming and spluttering as he ran. But even Jim’s maddest dash was no match for the jet of Sir Peter, which was going… going… gone!
Up it went, leaving Jim “The Money” Devereaux stranded on the runway. And as he gazed angrily up, shaking his fist at the sky, one of the fishmen saw him and waved.