When one considers the natural state of the globe, being a heavy thing, round, and though composed of several layers of solid rock, its surface – and where we do the bulk of our business – covered in water, to the degree that three-quarters of it is submerged at any time in recent history; and taking into account the great many things we’ve spilled into that abyss, toxic and pedestrian, without asking a fish or sea fowl for so much as a permission slip or by your leave; indeed, considering such a gesture so ridiculous in essence for several thousand years of mercantile endeavors that it merited no acknowledgment, not even after we began detonating nuclear devices on what we can describe loosely as their front doorsteps; it is not surprising at all, now, that the mermaids rose up and destroyed every single naval vessel on Earth.

Admiral Picaroon, sinking fast off the coast of the Falkland Islands, radioed simultaneously for mercy and for terms of surrender. A few mermaids in the vicinity picked up on the signal (being well adept at communicating at such frequencies), found the Admiral, vivisected him, wrapped him in seaweed, and turned him into a British sushi roll. They broadcast their feast over his channel and the rest of the planet stayed away from its beaches for the next few years.