Scene: It’s a sunny Friday morning. George and The Kraken are tootling through a picturesque Scottish village and have just passed an old kirkyard with a cemetery that’s probably as old as William Wallace.
George: (Looking thoughtfully at gravestones.) You know, I’ve been wondering… would it be possible to put it in my will that I want to be buried at sea so that my body is eaten by great white sharks? Do you think there’s such a thing as a shark burial?
The Kraken: (Frowning.) That doesn’t sound too healthy. I mean, I’ve got nothing to base it on, but I don’t think it’d be good for the sharks… the bones and stuff could hurt them.
George: They eat fish all the time! And seals! With bones! And isn’t their main diet bloated dead whales? If they don’t end up getting sick from those, how would me being fed to them hurt them?!
The Kraken: (Patting George’s leg) You’re not a bloated dead whale sweetie.
George: Aww that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.
The Kraken: Damn straight. Now don’t ever say I don’t compliment you.