Sponge Noir

Prologue

"Ah...Ze country. So vast. So cultivated". A French narrator set the scene. "Here we see Bikini Bottom's lush farms teeming with life...that will soon be killed...to be eaten as food. From the rolling sea cow pastures to the bountiful crop fields, grocery stores and restaurants alike rely on these farms every year to make profits. But, oh no. What do we have here?".

"Hungry, Hungry. Hungry, Hungry, Hungry", a bunch of small bouncing wormlike creatures chant in unison [1].          

"Nematodes are heading straight towards Monsieur Jenkins's farm [2]. This does not look good".      

It did not take long for information to spread as a realistic fish-head news anchor broadcasted the situation [3]. "Breaking News. We have received reports that nematodes devoured all of Farmer Jenkins's seaweed crops. Bikini Bottom and other localities will have to wait till next year's harvest to replenish any seaweed products currently in stock. Expect seaweed prices to rise over the coming days".       

The French narrator flashed a time card and announced, "Two weeks latair".     

The name's Sponge, Joe Sponge. At least it HAS been for half a decade now. I may look a bit rounder than usual and I ain't talking about the pounds I gained from knocking on alcoholism's door. It's just that the

pants of my formal fitted suit are tight enough to round my lower corners. I'm still a square without this expensive apparel but I prefer my body to be tapered down by a classy outfit. Growing out my sideburns and five-o'clock shadow used to look good but now my facial hair has grown a little too long [4] [19]. Gary was always the one to inform me when I needed to clean up my scruff. Maybe I haven't trimmed 'cause I'm depressed, or maybe it's because the urn holding his ashes has yet to pipe up. His passing is just another drop in the pool of despair I swim in these days. He was a good snail that I relied on to keep me grounded. Funny, that metaphorical lacking is now literal since I am currently staring at a dark cloudy sky plummeting to my death.

    
But you're probably wondering how I got here so let's go back.

I could start my story at a time you would be more familiar with like five years ago. Back when a Sponge named Bob wore dorky square pants, sucked up to Mr. Krabs, annoyed Squidward, flirted with Sandy, boasted in front of Larry, and played childish games with Patrick. Or maybe when I frequented the Goofy Goober with Patrick, and sometimes Larry on his cheat days, licking alcohol-infused ice creams like partying frat boys [19]. But Bikini Bottom isn't the happy place it once was. I still pour my heart out for this city and feel the need to protect it. If you said I was married to the city, hell, I wouldn't deny it. And like any marriage, you stay committed for better or worse. But Bikini Bottom has gotten worse, much worse. Yet I'm so committed to preserving any ounce of decency this corrupt city has left that I became a cop and changed my name just to keep up. But keeping pace with the city meant running away from my old self and all the god damn things I enjoy. You'd think by spending so much time in the mirror adjusting my badge that I'd at least recognize the sponge staring back at me. Well, we all make sacrifices for what we love but don't let love blind you because you'll start sacrificing too much and not even realize you're digging your own grave. I'll start my story several days ago when my metaphorical shovel began removing the first piles of dirt.