My dearest King Shark,

Some say you, sir, are the sole supremely sensuous, simply seductive slick-skinned sex symbol swimming in the Seven Seas and the sexiest super sinning stud-muffin in The Suicide Squad. Safe to say that “some” includes a somewhat sexually starved satirical scrivener saying such sweet, soul-stirring sentences with similar starting sounds for several sequential statements.

(That’s me. I’m part of the “some”. Just in case that wasn’t clear.)

Yes, Great Shark God, ever since I was a kid and I first saw you fighting Aquaman and Superboy, I’ve been completely enchanted by your slick skin and your sexy snarl. By your terrifying teeth and your tantalizing turpitude. By your delicious dorsal and your devastating demeanor.

When your muscle-bound frame first found its way onto the CW’s “The Flash”, well, let’s just say I became suddenly dehydrated. And you were the only tall drink of water I wanted to get my hands on. Then, just a few years later, you showed up again, this time in “The Suicide Squad”. Even though you were more of a himbo than I usually go for, the way you devoured everything in sight made me want to break every rule I’ve ever had.

All my life, I worried that, one day, I’d have to choose between someone who chokes me just enough to make me feel something and someone who could and would eat me whole. Between someone who could have sex on dry land and someone who could go down for hours at a time without needing to come up for air. Between someone who was a person and someone who was a shark.

Now I see that I can have it all with you. So, I don’t care if people think it’s an amoral affront to God, or that it can only end in a bloody disaster, or that I’m “gonna need a bigger throat”. I know that we can make this work.

Because, almighty King Shark, you’re one fish I wouldn’t mind sleeping with.

Yours always and forever,

Alana