Nature is finally issuing its quarterly performance reviews, and the results for the hairless, entitled residents of Sydney are, predictably, sub-par. In a feat of logistical efficiency that would put the local transit authorities to shame, sharks have managed three separate engagements with the bipedal pests of New South Wales in just forty-eight hours. From an eleven-year-old’s surfboard becoming a chew toy to a man sustaining serious injuries, the ocean is reclaiming its status as something other than a backdrop for mediocre tourist photos. It is, quite frankly, the most honest dialogue we’ve seen in Australia all year.

The sheer audacity of the human reaction is what truly delights my cold, dead heart. We spend our lives insulating ourselves from reality with climate-controlled condos and artisanal lattes, so when a creature that has remained biologically unchanged since the Cretaceous period decides to exercise its dental rights, we act as if the laws of physics have been personally insulted. We have turned the coastlines into a suburban extension, expecting the Great White and its kin to respect our property lines and 'No Trespassing' signs. They don't. They see a clumsy, sunscreen-slathered snack flailing in the surf and, quite reasonably, decide to see if it’s edible. It usually isn't—humans are mostly gristle and ego—but the sharks deserve points for the effort.

Look at the 'victims'—a word we use for anyone who suffers the consequences of their own spatial unawareness. A twelve-year-old and an eleven-year-old were involved in these latest entries for the Darwin Awards. While the media wrings its hands over the 'tragedy' of youth interrupted, let’s be honest: these children are being taught the most valuable lesson of their lives—one that their coddling parents and the participation-trophy education system failed to provide. That lesson is that the universe is indifferent to your age, your potential, or your feelings. If you enter the dining room of a three-ton killing machine while dressed as a seal, do not be surprised when you are treated like an appetizer. The shark isn't a bully; it’s a realist.

Then there is the man who was 'seriously injured' in the third attack. The reporting treats this like a freak accident, akin to being struck by a meteorite or finding a competent politician in the wild. It isn’t. It is the statistical inevitability of human arrogance. We have decimated the fish populations, acidified the water, and filled the trenches with microplastics, yet we expect the residents of the deep to remain polite. If someone broke into your house, threw trash on your floor, and ate all your food, you’d probably take a chunk out of them too. The sharks aren't the villains here; they are the only honest actors in this farce. They aren't 'attacking'; they are conducting a biological audit.

The political fallout will be as predictable as it is pathetic. The Right will scream for a 'cull,' because their only solution to a complex ecological balance is to shoot it until it stops moving. They want the ocean to be as safe and sterile as a shopping mall parking lot, blissfully unaware that a dead ocean means a dead planet. Meanwhile, the Left will offer 'thoughts and prayers' for the ecosystem while simultaneously approving the next luxury high-rise development that destroys the local mangroves. They’ll talk about 'shark conservation' while wearing wetsuits made of petroleum products and surfing on boards made of toxic resins. Neither side can grasp the core truth: the ocean doesn't belong to us, and it’s tired of our company.

We have spent centuries convincing ourselves that we are the protagonists of the Earth's story. We aren't. We are a brief, annoying footnote between the reign of the dinosaurs and the eventual triumph of the cockroaches. These three attacks in Sydney are just the ocean’s way of clearing its throat. The man, the twelve-year-old, and the boy with the bitten surfboard are merely data points in a trend of increasing biological friction. As we continue to encroach on every square inch of the planet, these 'unprovoked' attacks will become the new normal, and honestly, we’ve earned it.

So, by all means, Sydney, keep splashing. Keep paddling out into the gray-green depths with your fragile bodies and your misplaced sense of security. The sharks are waiting, and they don’t care about your politics, your socio-economic status, or your 'right' to enjoy the beach. They are the last bastion of pure, unadulterated reality in a world drowning in human delusion. If the sharks manage to thin the herd of people who think they can negotiate with an apex predator, I’ll be on the shore with a glass of scotch, cheering for the team with the bigger teeth.