The Mystery of the Missing Member

One autumn morning I awoke to a knock at the front door. Rising in my jammies I sauntered to the foyer and found no one knocking.

On my doorstep lay a package, unaddressed and unlabeled. Odd.

I glanced about, shrugged and brought the box inside. Tossing it on the counter I grabbed a pair of scissors and opened the mysterious package. I was smacked in the schnoz by the scent of the sea.

“Good grief, it's a johnson!” Before me lay the second largest willy I’d ever laid my eyes on. The inside of the box was stained crimson and the pale phallic slug before me was splattered in its own blood. Good heavens, somebody got their lizard lopped off.

I saw no note, nothing but pork sausage in the box, I wondered how long it’d been laying there. What’s the gain of leaving a decapitated ding dong on someone’s porch? As far as I could remember I’d done nothing to offend anyone as of late. I needed no such Bolton-esque member messages sent my way, whose willy was this anyway?

Masking my nose underneath my pajama shirt in a futile attempt to block the fishy smell, I used my scissors to roll the schlong over in the hopes of there being a note beneath. There was!

12033 Lone Peak Parkway

No city, no zip. A quick google search said it was the local aquarium. The smell of stale fish made sense then. But why the aquarium? I wasn’t a six year old, I was a grown man with a job and vague responsibilities. Why would someone cut off their cucumber and then send it to me with the address of the fish zoo? I wondered then if I should call the police.

Nah, I’d had enough run-ins with the boys in blue in the past for one lifetime. Whatever this mystery meat meant, I’d have to figure it out on my own.

I called my buddy Max. Max was a wildcard whose favorite pastimes were smoking reefer and watching crappy cop shows on cable. If anyone could figure this out, it was Max.

“Sorry dude, I’m busy all day, maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Max, there’s a mystery afoot! Somebody’s peter is on my porch!” Technically it was on my kitchen counter, semantics.

“Don’t know what to tell you dude.”

Looks like I’d have to solve this particular mystery on my own. I dialed the number of the local aquarium.

“Living Planet Aquarium, how can I help you?”

“Hello–” I realized I couldn’t just tell this nice woman that someone’s dismembered dingaling was in my house and addressed to where she worked, it would raise the same questions that I was seeking the answers to, and some major red flags. Thinking fast I asked, “are there any openings today?” I felt my face grow hot as soon as the words left my mouth. Openings? Fool. This is an aquarium not a restaurant.

“Uh,” She said over the crackling landline in the disparaging tone that everyone who's ever worked in customer service has used so many times. “If you’re wondering about party availability, we’re unfortunately booked through the week. If you’d like I could schedule you something for next week…?”

“Oh, that’s alright, thanks very much.” I hung up embarrassed but intrigued. Party availability? My friends did have a dark sense of humor. I wonder…

I put on clothes and hopped in the car, driving south to the aquarium with a box full of phallus on my lap.

I walked into the ticketing office holding the package within a package and found myself face to face with the same woman I’d talked to over the phone, she looked nothing like I’d imagined.

“Hi, are there any parties today?”

“Yes, there are.” She said through the plexiglass window, her voice augmented by the microphone embedded into the fake glass. She didn’t say anything else, looking at me as though I was only slightly dull. It was probably the same look she’d given me over the phone.

Not knowing what to say, I gambled. “A reservation for Max?”

“Ah, yes. Right this way.” She beckoned me past the ticketing office.

I followed, still holding the peepee package in hand. She led me to a pair of closed doors and pushed one aside. The room within was dark, I wondered idly if my own one-eyed snake would suffer the same fate as that in the box as I entered the room.

“Surprise!” The lights flew on and I found myself surrounded by friends. Max was front and center, a big shit eating grin stretched across his face, his eyes were redder than the Devil’s dong.

“Happy Birthday!” They cheered, it wasn’t my birthday. The walls of the party room were decked out in Game of Thrones banners, House Stark, Lannister, Tully, Martell, Baratheon, Targaryen, and of course Bolton. On the table there sat a cake with the flayed man sigil on top. My friends really did have a sick sense of humor.

“I’m happy you made it. When you called I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t get the message.” Max approached with two slices of cake in hand, he handed me one and started chowing on the other.

“The message! You sent me a severed snake in a box.”

“Clever right? It’s like when Ramsey Bolton cut off Theon’s–”

“Yeah I got the reference. You’re a real sicko you know that?”

“Yup! A clever sicko though. Come on, eat some cake.”

“Hold on, where’d you get this weenie anyway? Should I be calling the cops on you?”

“Hmm? Oh that. No, it’s an Urechis unicinctus. Also known as the garloid, the fat innkeeper, or the penis fish. It’s a marine spoon worm native to East Asia. The "blood” is ketchup. Pretty impressive right?”

“Right.” That explained the fish smell.

“Come on, there’s cake!”

“Alright.” I laughed. A Game of Thrones themed birthday party at an aquarium, only Max would come up with something like that.

I grabbed a slice of cake, it was red velvet. How appropriate.