It was a hall of legends. Jordan Peterson, Terrence Howard—even the great Dr. Phil McGraw had once waited in this hallowed space.

Now, it was Gary and the fishmen who were waiting, in a testosterone fuelled paradise of samurai statues, about to carve their names into history on the one podcast to rule them all: The Joe Rogan Experience.

“Trust me, bros,” said Gary to the fishmen. “We are about to be launched into the stratosphere!”

At that moment, their host arrived in a cloud of post-workout sweat, his shirt clinging to him like a second skin. The air shifted as he moved, releasing a humid funk of unwashed kettlebells and elk meat burps.

“Am I tripping balls right now?” roared Joe Rogan, his eyes practically popping as he ogled the fishmen. “Or am I actually seeing a whole new species?”

He took a step closer, then hesitated, blinking hard like he was trying to clear a hallucination. “This is like some paradigm-shifting shit right here. You’re not holograms, are you? Or deepfakes sent by the CIA?”

Joe reached out with a single quivering finger.

“Satisfied?” asked Gideon as Joe made first contact with his barnacled wrist.

“Dude, if this is real—and not some weird DMT flashback—then like… anything is possible. Aliens. Lizard people. A ten-part Netflix docuseries documenting your origins. This shit is only the beginning! Can I shake your hands? Or is there a more appropriate fishman welcome?”

“We prefer a mutual smooshing together of genitalia,” said Gorbachev solemnly. “It sounds crazy, but that’s our tradition.”

“He’s kidding,” said Gary quickly. “You are kidding, aren’t you?”

Joe barely heard him. “So, you’re fishmen, right? That’s what I call you?”

“What you call us is irrelevant,” said Greg. “Provided you obey us and respect our right to rule!”

“Your right to rule? Dudes, you know this is a free country.”

“Right,” Greg said with a devilish grin. “But not for loooooong!”

“You should talk to my buddy, Elon,” Joe chuckled. “He’s got similar ideas. Hey, you wanna meet Young Jamie? I think he’s setting up in the other room.”

When they arrived on set, young Jamie was hunched over a laptop. For a split second, Gary glimpsed the words Fishman Hoax on the screen before Jamie hastily minimised the window.

Joe clapped a hand on his employee’s shoulder. “We’ll they’re here. Which means they’re real. Which means pay up, sucker!” He opened his palm expectantly. “Did we say ten bucks?”

“You don’t really expect me to pay, do you?”

“Fine,” said Joe with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll dock it from your wages.”

Jamie folded his arms, glaring suspiciously at the creatures. “Are you sure they’re legit? Like sure sure? Could be some fucking actors in a suit for all I know.”

Joe nodded sagely, improvising a plan. “Guys, this is just a formality, but young Jamie here—he’s gonna pat you down.”

“I am?”

“I will not consent to such an egregious violation of—”

“People need to believe in you, Greg,” explained Gary. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Just a quick pat-down,” Joe reassured them. “And then whiskey… to celebrate!”

“Celebrate what?” asked Gideon.

“The Rise of the Fishmen!” said Joe, a mystical glint in his eye.

“Let’s get this over with,” said Jamie as he cautiously approached the creatures, hands at the ready. After a thorough pat-down, his eyes bulged with realisation.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “This is insane! You’re actually—"

“Hey, you guys want any BRAIN PILLS?” Joe interrupted. “I got this brain pill sponsorship deal going—so they’re totally free. Can I get some fucking brain pills in here?” said the podfather, clapping his hands like a king.

A lackey materialised from the shadows, carrying a cornucopia of brain supplements.

“Mega Brain, Quantum Brain or Lord of the Brains?” asked the faithful servant.

“Do you even need to ask that question?” said Joe, grabbing a bottle of Lord of the Brains (the most popular brain pill on the market).

Brain pill market research concludes that the higher your IQ, the less likely you are to be tricked into buying what is, for all intents and purposes, a placebo, which is why brain pills are marketed exclusively to the dumbass community. The only thing these pills are guaranteed to cognitively enhance is your ability to waste money.

“That reminds me,” Joe continued, popping a brain pill and chewing thoughtfully. “I promised you whiskey! Whiskey first. And then, we’re going LIVE!!”

Three whiskeys and a handful of brain pills later, they still hadn’t started filming.

Gary ducked into the bathroom. The concoction of stimulants and depressants was making his brain go haywire in the best possible way. Millions watching? On a live stream? That just meant they’d be famous sooner rather than later.

“You’ve got this, Gary,” he whispered as his aim went increasingly wide. “This is your moment!” he said, slapping his face like a fighter. “Gary Graves! Remember the name! Fear it!”

He wasn’t gone long. Five minutes maybe? Seven max! But when he returned, the podcast had already started.

The prime seats had been nabbed by the fishmen, who sprawled across them like conquering kings.

“I think it’s dope,” Joe was saying. “Who doesn’t want to dominate the world? And kudos to you for having the balls to say it.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” said Greg.

All Gary wanted was a seat at the table.

He scanned the set. Nothing. Not even a measly medicine ball.

“And honestly, you couldn’t have picked a better time! Since The Donald died, there’s been a bit of a leadership void.”

“Do you mean to say,” Gideon mused, “that the world is ripe for the ruling?”

The live chat was already exploding:

All hail our fish overlords, wrote @TheMeekWeakling.

Rule me your fish-liness! said @EnthusiasticAdopter09

Feeling starved for attention, Gary marched onto set—only to find himself hovering… awkwardly hovering.

“Is he ruining the shot, Jamie?” Joe exclaimed.

Gary looked crestfallen. “You said I could be a part of the—”

“Jesus, man. Just sit the hell down!”

But there was nowhere to sit. And he wasn’t about to perch on a fishman’s knee.

“Jamie, can we get a seat for this idiot? And cigars, too, since we’re ruining the flow of the podcast!”

Soon, a humiliatingly small stool was provided and placed way in the background, practically in another zip code. The camera’s shallow depth of field ensured that Gary was, and remained, tastefully out of focus—a ghost of a man, haunting the edge of the frame.

“Thanks a lot,” he muttered to no one, because the conversation had already moved on.

“These ones are the real deal—from Havana!” Joe said, presenting the cigars with reverence.

Greg took one, rolling it between his fingers with an almost practiced ease. Gideon followed suit, as did Gorbachev, who tucked his behind his ear like a gangster from a bygone era.

With a cunning smile, Gorbachev passed the box back to Gary. He opened it. The box was empty.

“Payback for the prophecy,” chuckled the duck-egg blue fishman.

“Did you say prophecy?” said Joe, exhaling a perfect ring of smoke.

“Yeah, we had this prophecy for a while…” Gorbachev muttered. “It didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

“Gary happened! He was supposed to crown us with the Seal of Kings™—granting us dominion over land and sea.”

“But…” Joe prompted.

“He forgot it.”

“Bro?” Joe turned to Gary, aghast. “You forgot the Seal of Kings™? That’s some day-one, rookie shit right there.”

“I uh… bros… this was like a week ago. And why are you bringing it up on fucking Rogan?”

“Don’t mean to interrupt,” said Jamie, staring in disbelief at the analytics, “but we’re breaking records here. Half the planet is watching!”

“You were saying, Gary?” said Joe, throwing him right back in the deep end.

“I uh… wasn’t saying anything.”

“Typical,” laughed Gorbachev. “Failing to deliver is his specialist subject.”

“Why are you being so mean?”

Gary tried to focus on the conversation, but something was off. Jamie was typing with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, and both he and Joe both kept grinning.

Then came the first laugh—an unignorable snort from Jamie, and pretty soon, Joe was in on the act, roaring and cackling like mad.

Gideon nodded toward the monitor, where you could clearly read the merciless thoughts of the internet. At first, the chat was moving too fast for Gary to process. Then, a single comment crystallised in the chaos.

@FishKingFiend: Can we fire Gary from existence?

Gary tried to smile, to shake it off, but the barbs kept coming.

@BackgroundGary: The bro’s got the presence of a houseplant.

@BetaMax: If mediocrity had a face, it would be Gary Graves.

And then, the final nail:

@Chairless_Chump: LMFAO Man is sitting on a toddler stool 💀.

Gary shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyperaware of the tiny stool beneath him.

@GaryYouNumpty: WHY DIDN’T YOU BRING THE SEAL?

@You’reFired: One job, Gary! One bloody job!

“Wow, they are roasting you hard,” Joe whistled.

@WorseThanHitler: Gary Graves? More like Gary Let’s-put-him-in-a-grave. Cos this guy SUCKS!

Having read that ruthless and unnecessary burn, Gary did what any reasonable human would do in his position.

He screamed, “Fuck you all!”

Threw his headphones on the floor.

And stormed off the podcast.