The Problem With Mermaids

I stumbled into the apartment in a daze. I was a little... Okay very drunk. Honestly given the shit that went down last night I wouldn't have it any other way. 

"Yo Chad how was your Tinder date with Ariel?" Asked my roommate Mike, without looking away from his game of CoD. I felt a wave of nausea slam against my stomach. I don't know how I managed to stop myself from throwing up all over the carpet. 

"Dude not her name! Also like... You know... She's a mermaid," I slured before downing more of the whiskey I bought on the walk here. 

"Yeah I know bro," he chuckled, "So which half fish?"

"Ugh I think it was left. It's not like I fucking asked her," I answered as I maneuvered my way to the couch. Next thing I knew Mike was doing a Monster spit take, spraying little neon green spit droplets were being all over the TV.

"Wait what? How the fuck does that even work?" He demanded. Before answering him I chugged some more whiskey.

"I'm still not sure man. All I know is you owe me a lot more than a six pack,"