tastes like chicken

toona
Originally uploaded by peas on toast.

Well Friday was a riot. In a fishy sort of way. Third Roommate came round, as he does, to smoke pot and watch the religion channel on DStv. He insists that it’s just because he finds evangelical southern Americans screaming the praises of God hilarious, but I’m not so sure. I actually think he’s secretly Baptist. I doubt the neighbours find the ‘soothing sounds of God’ endearing.

We got so horrifically goofed, I’m surprised I can actually remember this.

Admittedly, the religion channel is hysterical when you don’t really know what’s, erm, potting. We watched a fascinating excerpt on why the world was going to end in 2019 and if we’re not saved by Jesus Christ by that time, we'll be going straight to the burning fires of hell. Philosophised by a decidedly orange man in a houndstooth suit from what could only be Alabama.

People do the most creative things when they are more stoned than Bob Marley. At varsity, after baking and devouring a dozen of those chocolately muffiny space cake thingies, we wanted to fax a girl’s ass to New Zealand. But creativity comes with stupidity in this case, and we thought that by her just sitting on the fax machine, and us punching in a random international dialing code, her ass would miraculously be transposed onto the fax roll and land up on some person’s desk in downtown Auckland. (It was funny at the time, I swear.)

Usually when one gets the munchies, they snack on biscuits, leftovers in the fridge, chocolate, cheese. Then there’s that small portion of the population that’ll opt for uncooked penne, seeds, Nesquik straight out the tin.

On Friday I was game to consume anything, hell even the rabbit pellets at the back of the cupboard looked appetising. But I craved tuna, like only a tuna craver can crave. So while Third World Ant cooked up a fuck off Thai green curry for dinner, I snacked on tuna out of the can.

Then Third Roommate said something funny, and fresh tuna henceforth sprayed from my pie hole all over the carpet, remote controls, coffee table, and a disgusted and decidedly green-looking Third Roommate himself.
I digress. I shan’t eat anything fishy from a can when I have no fine motor coordination and jokes are being cracked therein the immediate area.

I found the tin of tuna with a fork on top of it in the fridge this morning. Third World Ant’s gonna kill me.

PS: I had sex once this weekend. Small Bum’s machinery is in fine working order again. But let’s not push it with compulsively frequent banging shall we? I’m still not initiating. I think I’ve finally got this nymphomania thing under control. For now.