Let me make this clear: I am terrified of the ocean. Oh, I’ll go in it, and paddle around and pretend to love the monstrous waves and the disgusting seaweed and the very real possibility of jellyfish stings and then a hot lifeguard peeing on my leg (that really happens, right?), but by god I hate it. However, despite my heart-stopping fear of the ocean and 95% of its inhabitants, I never REALLY think I’m going to get attacked by a shark. Not REALLY.

That is, until sometime in the beginning of August every year, when for some reason I decide that the best use of my after-work hours would be to watch shows like AIR JAWS and SHARK BITE BEACH and ZOMBIE SHARK ATTACK: BLOOD WARS IN NEW YORK CITY (doesn’t exist [yet]). Because now, as the San Diego summer is finally blossoming, my wary tip-toeing into the ocean will now be accompanied by the absolute certainty that a great white shark is going to hunt me down and bite off each of my limbs, one by one, before biting my heart out of my chest and raising it over his shark-head in shark-victory.

So WHY do I celebrate shark week every year with the same (if not more) dedication that I give to the Christmas 3-flavor-popcorn-barrel season? Let me explain.

1. Shark Week is AMERICAN.

Like apple pie and NASCAR. And pizza.

2. Shark Week is informative.

Tonight: Shark Bite Survival Guide. Very important knowledge for those of us who spend a lot of time tempting fate by swimming in the vicinity of 2-ton razor-teethed monsters.

3.  Shark Week reminds me of my impending death.

In a world when people are living with HIV and surviving cancer and horrific car accidents, it’s important to be reminded that there are still things that will tear your body up beyond any sort of medical recognition.

4. Shark Week makes for a great drinking game.

Every time you’re terrified, DRINK! Everytime someone gets mauled by a shark, DRINK! Everytime some specialist tries to explain why we shouldn’t be afraid of sharks thirty seconds after one snaps off someone’s leg like a Kit Kat, DRINK!

5. Shark Week give you an excuse to let out the gluttonous Cathy cartoon you.

If your roommate came home and saw you eating mozzarella sticks every night for a week, she’d usually say, “hey fatass, why don’t you go to the gym or something?” But this week, all bets are off. Eat your heart out, because you’re American, and it is f***ing Shark Week.