]Sharktooth, Massachusetts is a seaside resort town situated on the elbow to Cape Cod. Although no stranger to eccentrics, the year-rounders in this tight little town never find it in their hearts to accept as one of their own, pretentious, English-accented, Pemberton Poindexter Plushbottom, aka Triple P. One might have expected the fact that on several occasions tourists were known to have mistaken Triple P for Teddy Roosevelt would count for something. So what if when making this observation these same tourists were suspected of being under the influence of a controlled substance? Instead of gaining the respect he deserves, Triple P is generally regarded as a pompous ass. Of no help is the fact that his mother, Agnes Pinkney Plushbottom, is a squeaky-voiced, prune-faced former Vegas pole dancer. Nor that Triple P was conceived during a debauched one night stand with a travelling salesman from Cottonwood Falls, Kansas-a travelling salesman that from the trunk of his car peddled his "One-Look-And-You're-Hooked" line of French pantyhose to all comers. For twenty odd years, Lord and Lady Plushbottom, as the year-rounders disparagingly refer to Triple P and his mother, have occupied the decaying North Sharktooth estate Lady Pinkerton inherited from a rich Boston uncle. Behind their walled enclosure, Triple P spends his days and nights searching for the shortest route to fame and fortune, until, at last, he hits upon the idea of a theme park featuring a great white shark. Convinced that a theme park is completely out of character for a small New England town founded in 1654, the year-rounders are publicly repulsed by the idea. Nor have Triple P's local fundraising efforts produced any concrete results. The only available source of financing for his grandiose scheme turns out to be Guido Bonaccorso, a pawnbroker and made member of the Mafia from the North End of Boston, thus, setting Triple P on a collision course with the Feds and the year-rounders. And therein lies the tale.
