When he suggested I should run for office,

When he suggested I should run for office, I laughed. Then I considered it. After all

I am the president of the United States of 'Murcia, but even that wasn't enough. I needed something more, something to motivate me.

I decided to hide a sardine in the crown of Madam Tussards wax museum portrait of King James of Aragorn. I went incognito as a spanish tourist, but my murcian accent caught the

attention of an WHO official, ironically, who caught a faint whiff of biopathogen on the sardine. The jig was up. Now I would never be nominated for the Nobel. I went into hiding.

I couldn't face the shame - they called me the Sardine Swindler, or the Fishy Fibber. I picked out a lovely cave on the rolling green hills of New Zealand and began living as a

cod walloper. Truth is, I hate fish. That's why I love to kill 'em. "Fish are friends, not food," said a Zealandic hippie who infiltrated my cave. I slapped him with a sturgeon. He

jumped back with the most crisp British salute I had ever seen in my life. I was so astonished by it that I lost control of the sturgeon I had slapped him with and followed it over

the edge and into the canal. I could see his fine figure, still saluting, shrink into the distance as the sturgeon, which had caught on my cuff link, dragged me out toward the sea.

My one hope was to grab a prop blade, spin on it like a carnival ride, and let go at the right time. But when I let go I spun free of the prop and back into the fish’s mouth. Shit.