I know what you’re thinking: You’re always just a skosh suspicious of room-temperature fish. But you can take your suspicions and shove them in a shark’s snout, you chicken of the sea.
Carla from Karismatic Omnicorp’s Asphalt Services Department grew this tuna herself, farming a small school for personal use in her bathtub, between showers and miscellaneous hose-downs. Then she added some sun-dried tomatoes that she dried in the oven because it’s been really cloudy this year, and some olive oil pressed by one virgin and then another, extra virgin.
Then, she took a used StarKist packet that she had leftover from a casserole that went wrong, filled it up, and re-vacuum-sealed it with that vacuum-sealer that she bought off an infomercial in 1996 before it got recalled due to that pork incident.
She just had a bit too much tuna this week, because of a whimsical and wholly plausible accident involving a bowling ball, a scythe, a spinning jenny, four bellows, a gravid chicken who just needs to be surprised by a popping balloon to start laying eggs, and some radioactive fish food. But it’s really nice.
What I’m saying is, take the damn tuna, eat it raw because it’s nasty to heat that in the office microwave, and be grateful. Carla is a hero for knocking those StarKist thugs down a peg and a half.