I'll fry that M**F**!!!

It’s been three weeks since my life flipped upside down — or maybe I should say inside out. I was just out here fishing, minding my own business, enjoying a quiet afternoon and the salty breeze like any good early retiree would. Then it happened.

I spotted the fish. Not just any fish — a massive, glowing, almost mythical creature that looked straight out of a fantasy novel. I cast my line, thinking I was about to land the catch of a lifetime. And in a way… I did.

There was a blinding flash. A strange pull. I blacked out. Next thing I know, I'm standing waist-deep in the water, rocking a body that looks like it belongs on a beach calendar, wearing a tiny bikini I definitely didn’t own before. My name used to be Richard — now everyone calls me Riley. I don’t even know if the paperwork still says otherwise.

Every morning since, I’ve been out here again. People probably think I’m just another bikini-clad influencer trying to score views with some “girl power fishing” content. If only they knew I used to be a middle-aged dude with a beer gut and a solid 9-to-5 in air conditioning repair.

But I know that fish is still out there. Sometimes I swear I see it — a quick glimmer beneath the surface, a mocking wave of its tail, like it’s daring me to try again. And I will. Because when I finally reel that bastard back in, I’m getting answers.

Maybe I’ll find a way to reverse this spell... or maybe I’ll just ask for a sponsorship deal and learn to live with the tan lines.