Jenkins gleefully unsealed the massive plastic barrels and began aggressively shoveling the actively fermenting, liquefied squid guts and rotting fish heads directly into the roaring, vibrating mechanical grinder. An impossibly thick, putrid, eye-watering cloud of absolute olfactory death instantly exploded into the crisp morning air.
The strong coastal wind picked up the atomized mist of rotting marine life and carried it perfectly across the docks, completely enveloping the pristine luxury yachts in a suffocating, invisible fog of unimaginable, nauseating stench. The wealthy influencers immediately dropped their gourmet lattes and expensive cameras, violently gagging and dry-heaving as the horrific smell violently invaded their lungs and permanently clung to their expensive designer clothes.
They stumbled blindly around their pristine teak decks, desperately covering their faces with their cashmere sweaters, weeping openly as the nauseating odor deeply seeped into the luxurious upholstery of their multi-million-dollar boats.
The romantic, highly curated “Fishercore” aesthetic had officially arrived in full four dimensions, and it was absolutely, undeniably repulsive.