Here are some more guidance notes for the urban warriors among you.
It may never have occurred to you that this might be a worthwhile aim in your current life. You may feel your karma doesn’t qualify you for this unlikely turn of events. You may well be right, because it’s going to take a bit of organisation before it can happen.
For one thing, you’re going to need three like-minded friends, and reach a pre-mortem agreement with them. Here’s why. A Portuguese man’o’war is a jellyfish, correct? ‘Quack Quack, WRONG.’ You just missed tonight’s star prize. It’s not a jelly, and it’s not a fish either. Bewilderingly, it’s not strictly even an it at all. It’s a them.
Yessirreebob, them. Because a PMOW is a symbiotic colony of no fewer than four different types of polyp. Strange but true. So you and your three mates had better have a serious talk before things can work out. Define a few job roles, and stick to them. My own choice is to go for the fourth functional role, but really it’s up to you.
One of you has to agree to become the flotation body/sail. It’s an important bit of the teamwork, this. You’ll be keeping the whole shooting match afloat, as it were. Without you, we’re all doomed to sink into the depths, and die a miserable and ignominious death. This would be a shame when you’ve just gone to all the trouble of being reincarnated. Pick someone you really trust for this job.
You’re going to need a psychopath for the next job. A true nutter. I’ve a couple of mates in the Boar’s Head I can suggest if you run out of inspiration. You need a real yobbo here. Because they’re going to have to relish the idea of forming tentacles up to 30’ long, and capable of killing unwary scuba divers by stinging them through a wetsuit. My mate R would probably be a good person to have onside here.
So you’re afloat, and lethal, and pretty well cooking with gas. Your next recruit needs to be a hog, a real gutbucket. Because when Mr Tentacles has killed something, and manoeuvred it up to the base of your friend Mr Flotation Body, a polypy Mr Gutbucket has the vital role of digesting the corpse and making sure you all get fed. It’s not a bad job, if you think about it. Wake up of a morning, eat all day, and go back to sleep. Polyp heaven if you’re a bit of a trencherman. As long as you like sashimi, you’re quids in. Maybe even squids in.
Myself, I’m going for the fourth role in the team. Oh yes, I’m going to be the quarterback on the side. All I have to do all day is have sex. ReproMan, that’s me. A sex god. All my energy is going into making gametes, which in turn will make more Portuguese men’o’war. Huh get on up, get on up, like a sex machine. I could do that.
BTW, has it ever occurred to you that the way we spell the word wrong is, well, wrong? Just a thought.
Also BTW, I’m indebted to another blogger, whose name escapes me I’m afraid, for reminding me of the science behind this. If the science is dodgy, it’s my fault, not hers.