Deep under the hulls where the pirates go, the therapeutically disturbed fishies swim in calm, still waters. Often we think of teeming, roiling masses swaying to and fro in the temerous grasp of the atavan-weakened sea god, herking and jerking with the waves like some omnipotent psychotic livery service’s indecison has been amplified to unbearable levels. But it’s not so. Down there, deep beneath the Chinese Junks (the China-men are known to own them too, although ours are bigger), the fish are calm and happy when not being eaten. This is common knowledge, so I’ve wasted a paragraph but there you go always making trade-offs.
On to the fishies.
Swordfish are known for their prodigious protuberances that politely point towards perhaps popping open cans of perishables, or at least stabbing a motherfucker but good while they aren’t looking. Sharks have big teeth, which with they chew on things (if they think you’re a seal, that is. just tell them you had thought about it Junior year but that you got a scholarship instead). But what do the wee fishies have to defend their soon-to-be corpses? Nothing! So, following with this train of logic, the little ones are the best to eat. As a general rule, many people spend their entire lives devouring things that probably couldn’t kill them. Cows, pigs (excluding boar), dogs, cats, the elderly, infants… these are all common foodstuffs, I hear. But why limit yourself? Why restrain yourself from enjoying the best cuisine nature can offer? Besides cocaine? Well, I have tried for decades and decades to answer this question, folks, and I’ve finally found the answer to which for decades and decades the question has been begging me to try and find.
That’s right. An answer. AN ANSWER! AN ANSWER!!!!!
The answer is, surprisingly, an answer that one must answer with what several call antithetical to answering things: more questions.
What could be more exciting than eating something that could’ve eaten you? What could taste more savory, more strange yet frighteningly erotic as that first crackle of electricity rushes down your spine from your taste buds to your loins (they are connected, damn science to hell!) than the flesh of a creature that commanded middling-to-considerate power in its kingdom?
The answer to every question I’ve so far asked in this post: nothing. Shit that can eat you is fucking delicious.
In light of this, you should definitely go to “Posédon,” the ultimate in X-treme seafood dining. Take this story about “Benny,” for example:
“Benny” liked to eat lots of different types of seafood. “Benny” liked sushi. “Benny” liked tuna. “Benny” liked mackerel. But “Benny” was feeling a little bored of normal seafood… after all, what was the thrill of eating those puny, spineless bastards, all deboned and flaccid on his porcelain, on the polite little tableclothed mahogany sissy-edifice that lay before him at the local seafood eatery? Why, nothing! “Benny” wanted more out of life. He wanted adventure. He wanted to be a real man. “Benny” didn’t know what was wrong with his life recently… everything he seemed to do resulted in the same throng of brightly-colored erectional-dysfunction adverts that seemed to constitute a wakeboarding festival at twenty below. Blondes with fake bodies and bleached teeth just didn’t give him hard-ons anymore. The pills “Benny” had to take to go to sleep and the drugs he had to import from Columbia to snort so he could do his job just seemed to make things worse. Life was becoming a blur of deathly apparitions howling like monkeys outside of his merry-go-round of solitary confinement for him to do someting for them, to do something for his boss, to do someting for the company, to do something for society, to do anything but something for himself. Depression was setting in. His consciousness was whirling down the drain into the disposal system. Hell was closing in. The banal. The brain-dead. The wheelchair. The pension. The beach. Grey. BUT THEN HE SAW THE SIGN! THE SIGN THAT CHANGED HIS LIFE! HE SAW IT THROUGH THE WINDOW OF THE NOW-DRAB SUSHI JOINT! “Posédon,” it said! “Benny” paid the check, and threw the table down, just because he could! He took the dainty Asian waitress into his arms and stormed through the pregnant street to “Posédon”! He thrust open the door with his quivering arms, and saw the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever seen! There, inside a room bigger even than his Gym where he Worked Out were at least 20 gigantic tanks, brimming full of sea-creatures bristling with needles, teeth, and needlessly serrated appendages! “Benny” paid his friendly serviceperson/certified CPR user the $10,000 required, took some methamphetamine, and dove right in! Hours later, he had wrestled a shark into submission, and was eating it raw, like a real man! Ohhhhh yeah! Eat that raw shark, “Benny”! Come on! Mmmmmmmm! Tastes good, dunnit?
As we can see, “Posédon” is the utmost in X-treme seafood dining experiences. All states may not have locations, so please call your local provider and beg until you cry, and then maybe you’ll get why you read all the way to this point only to be disappointed by there being no further italics, exclamation marks, or punchlines. In fact, there’s no punchline at all.
