Warning: Carnivorous Seaweed

A jogger breathed heavily, screamed. Sitting in sand, he trembling gripped a metal vanity comb to hack off his bloody gnawed left leg at an East Coast beach.

He desperately repeated an onslaught of Carnivorous Seaweed washed in as "Horrifying waves, masses of roiling, sunbather eye-sucking Seaweed Zombies thigh biting with corpse jaws of rotten teeth and bad breath -- "

The name of the beach remains unnamed to prevent public panic, despite the mounting death counts and the bloody traces of the eyeless bodies of sunbathers whose flesh and bones were dragged into the bloody sea.

The jogger's eyes were stung by the swish of sand kicked up by the rusty sandwich board bike of Mr. Bill Bored swerving to a stop when he heard the screamed obscenities of the bleeding one-legged jogger he recognized as Jake the Dubious Pop Cola salesman. Mr. Bored made mad medic moves to help Jake pack sandy beach cooler ice on his bleeding stump.

The metal comb fell onto the beach sand, gleaming with fresh flecks of thigh flesh.

Mr. Bored froze to stare at a small packet of Chinese restaurant take-out soya sauce within ripped ketchup packets floating in the cold cooler water. His stare indicated this view of ketchup packets with evidence of Chinese take-out made as much sense as the following.

Blood glistening carnivorous seaweed remnants were reluctantly pulled back by waves into the dark red sea. Washing up in the pink foam of gut-ooze sand were freshly gnawed shark bones.

It was now apparent why most beaches were empty. This was no Covid curfew.

Mr. Bored recoiled as one-legged zombie seagulls closed in with deadly serious threatening hops. Previously, they would approach with tentative cautious sidesteps to steal French fries. Now, they were brandishing drooling bloody beaks, heads bobbing to poke any visible bellies into a mess of entrails.

The zombie gulls were eyeing jogger Jake starting to rot around the edges like Roquefort Blue cheese. With a grimace of blood dripping gums, crazed jogger Jake started biting and eating his remaining trembling leg while screaming he didn't have lunch.

Mr. Bored hunched to object, but the rotting Jake raised a middle finger which was snapped off by a zombie gull shrieking away with its flapping wings falling apart to feather other gulls hopping in a biting frenzy.

Mr. Bored overturned a metal mesh garbage can over jogger Jake's head, arms and torso, for Jake's protection. One-legged zombie seagulls chased Mr. Bored as fresh flesh. He tore across hot sand promising Jake he'd return with the Beach Police, parasail medics and Jerry the Fry Dough cook with food to help Jake remain human.

Mr. Bored ran thumping left and right on the beach boardwalk, found no one. The mass of huddled boardwalk shops were open for business yet empty of customers and salespersons.

Zombie seagulls stared, perched on beach store shelves.

Mr. Bored had to come up with a solution fast, before the beachside hotels would turn into haunted sea wrecks visited only by the nasty one-legged zombie rodent seagulls, the hopping threatening nearest of which Mr. Bored now had to bag with Chamber of Commerce vacation pamphlet bags.

He knew the bags would not hold for long. They were biodegradable to help save whales from choking on pamphlet bags posing as undersea jellyfish.  Beaks poked through the bags.

Bones and bling were collected at 4 a.m. by out-of-town drifter beachcombers.

They had no idea why they were approached by mounds of blood red seaweed rising as mutants with dense green frills revealing glimpses of gnawed human limbs.

A cell phone in beach sand blinked a video:  Contagious Zombie Seaweed ankle bites were mutating selfie-adoring victims into broken-step music-video Seaweed Zombies...

Their music, accenting dead mouth murmurs, clapping bones and repetitive falling body thumps, was actually not bad for listeners of pop disco reiterations of cover songs that revered the past with a blend of condescension and inadequacies to create original melodies.

Wearing a pawn shop deep-sea diving helmet, aberrant beachcomber Mr. Bill Bored cycled into view, scuba flipper cranking his rusty yet now sheet-metal armor-plated sandwich boardwalk bike, blasting his water bottle rack bolted boat horn, taunting Seaweed Zombies to chase him 20 Interstate miles to a hospital incinerator.

Interrogated by Interstate Police while catching his breath at an Eat-Inn diner rest stop vending machine, Mr. Bored between marathon gulps of a Dubious Pop Cola, echoed in his helmet --  He accidentally discovered from groceries falling off his bike that the outbreak of Carnivorous Seaweed could be stopped and eaten with gaseous masses of Dubious Pop mashed with polenta.

WARNING Update Today:  Carnivorous Seaweed may now rise out of toilets.

If bitten, do not panic. Grip your butt cheeks, run with high knees for decontamination at Dubious Pop Barrel Polenta Bucket Treatment Tents.

Masks on the premises are obligatory, including Halloween. Hypocritical masks are dysfunctional.

Ignored precautions or late treatments will result in your gripping self-consuming Carnivorous Seaweed Zombie ass that will be pulled with a mysterious force back into the sea.

Show tickets, taxes, patience, refined taste and open doors, not included. Disregard these warnings at your own risk.

If Chamber of Commerce welcome hosts are not available to help you with vacation pamphlets, select your preferred road maps and get the hell outta town. Now.

Mr. Bill Bored was last seen commandeering an ice cream truck filled with Dubious Pop Cola fizzing in a mass of growing polenta.

Mr. Bored and truck, chased by Interstate Police cars from neighboring states, were speeding toward beaches lashed by the surging waves of an increasingly blood red sea.

Will Mr. Bored make it in time?  Or is humanity out of time?

BizarriBooks:   L'Orzari.  "Mr. Bill Bored's Series of CauseMix MessAdventures".