Why does the fish man smile at me like that?

Within the seafood industry there is a joke. A nasty, nasty joke.

 

I went the market on Wednesday and bought some fish. I enjoy cooking and fresh fish is a wonderful thing.  So I looked at the various things on offer and my eye was caught by some big butterfish steaks on special. I lived in South Australia for a while and butterfish is the standard fish-n-chip-shop fish. It’s a mild, white flesh fish, nothing fancy but very pleasant. These steaks looked fantastic, they were from a much bigger specimen than the fish-n-chip-shop fillets back in S.A., thickly cut, succulent-looking and at a price that was impossible to go past.

 

I asked for one of the butterfish steaks and the thin guy behind the counter pointed at them with eyebrows slightly raised to check he’d heard me right. Yeah, just one. I confirmed with an upheld index finger. He smiled a little quizzical half-smile, barely noticeable, was it a polite acknowledgement of a wise choice? Was it nothing to do with me? I paid for the fish and thought no more about it.

 

I pan-fried my butterfish steak with some chopped spring onion, fresh ginger, soy and lime juice. Served with steamed vegetables and wasabi mash, and accompanied by a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, it was pretty damn good if I do say so myself.

 

The next morning I got the joke.

 

I had to go to work early, there was a briefing for a new business job that was coming into field. Fuck, briefings are boring. Sit in a plastic chair and listen to some reasty twat who doesn’t know the first thing about communication, with a monotone, barely audible voice drone on and on about some bullshit survey. Sweet cunting Jesus, I could fucking kill myself! I stopped at a café on the way to buy some liquid fortitude.

 

While waiting for the coffee I felt the sharp pain of a rogue fart just bursting to get out. There was no-one else around me so I figured I could just gently let it out silently and no-one would be the wiser. I misjudged. Not by much but it was enough. It would have been literally a matter of milliseconds before I resecured my sphincter but the damage was done. No sound, but the deadly warm wetness of a shart. I’d shat, just a little but there was no mistake. In the middle of a coffee shop I had shat myself. Escape. I caught the eye of the girl making my coffee Excuse me, I just need to use the bathroom. I shuffled off to the bathroom trying desperately not to look conspicuous or to spread the damage too far, or more imortantly to let go of my tightly clenched sphincter which, I was certain, was holding back a great tsunami of shit.

Through the door, into the cubicle, lock, belt, trousers-undies-sit, release. Oh fucking hell! A terrifying splatterfest of semi-solids and jetting liquid erupted from me. The stench made me dry retch. My own stench made me dry retch. The tsunami subsided. I realised I was sitting on the toilet arms outstretched, bracing against the walls of the cubicle. I relaxed my arms and looked down at my underpants to inspect the damage. It was just a small streak of liquid at the arse crack. I checked and it hadn’t soaked through to the pants. Big relief. Leg by leg I extricated myself from the soiled undies replacing my pants. What to do with them.

 

I stood and turned to see the damage in the bowl. WHAT THE FUCK? To my unmitigated horror, the fairly regular, squishy looking turds floating in the bowl were in surrounded and coated by a layer of clear orange-brown oil. I swear it is true. There was a layer of oil over the water in the bowl. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I’d shat an oil slick. I looked at the crotch of the undies. It was oil. I sniffed them. EW! Only once, dry retch again. They stank of shit (surprising!) and old fish. Fucking butterfish! That was the fucking cryptic smile. He fucking knew. THAT DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER KNEW AND HE SAID NOTHING!!! CUNT!!!

 

Butterfish should come with a warning – MAY CAUSE ANAL LEAKAGE! I never understood the term anal leakage before but this was it. The sphincter, that wonderful muscular device which can tell solid from liquid from gas so effectively. That magical sphincter is rendered completely useless by oil. And just for those of you laughing your arses off right now: anal leakage SUCKS!!! FUCK YOU, FISH GUY!

 

Keep it together. I had to get my coffee and go to work. Ah, the coffee. Fuck, work! My gut rumbled. Ooh. There was going to be more visits today, I would be on anal guard like a bastard all day. But now I knew the score, I wouldn’t get caught again. It’s not a fart, just remember it’s not a fart, maybe you’ll never be able to fart with pants on ever again. That’s OK, I can live with that, just please let me not shit myself at work.

 

I wiped and straightened myself out. I flushed. Oh God NO!!! The horror. Oil, being lighter than water, doesn’t want to flush away. After four flushes I gave up and left a few little pools of oil floating in the bowl. I opened the cubicle door, still alone, took my oil-shat undies to the sink and washed them rigorously with hand soap, wrung them out and stood at the hand drier drying them, silently praying no-one would randomly enter, or even worse, come looking for me. Fuck, how long had I been away?

 

The undies dried. No-one came. I was ready with a what-the-fuck-are-you-looking-at expression if someone did come in. What, you’ve never seen a guy drying his underpants before? Back to the cubicle, pants down leg-by-leg undies back on. Two more flushes, just for luck, out, wash hands.

 

I returned to the café, paid for the coffee and left. It was cold, the coffee girl looked at me a bit funny, I realised I was sweating, she probably thought I’d gone in for a sly phone-wank, I was late for work – fuck you, wobblers! During the course of the day I had five more shits – all with, thankfully, decreasing amounts of oil.

 

I tell you this: everything in this post is true. Beware of butterfish! Be afraid of butterfish! VERY FUCKING AFRAID! Butterfish causes anal leakage. Unless you are buying it from a fish-n-chip shop in South Australia, in which case I suspect it’s just flake, DON’T FUCKING BUY IT!!! It’s a joke fish, we’re not meant to eat it, fishmongers stock and sell it purely for comedy value, the rotten fuckers! If you buy and eat it then your arse will leak oil and you’ll shit your pants.

 

If, on the other hand, you’re looking for something to serve to people you hate, this is the dish for you, it’ll fuck ’em!

12 Responses to “Why does the fish man smile at me like that?”

  1. Hans Licht Says:

    I feel your pain Buck… Oh no wait… That’s the pain from simultaneously puking and laughing my arse off.

  2. I may never look at fish in the same light again…

  3. Thank you for making my day!!
    I have an ex bf in mind who loves fish dinner…hmmm, I wonder what I could cook….*evil grin*
    Mate, your tragedy is the worlds comedy, thank you!

  4. Thanks for sharing that story mate! I bet the first thing you said after looking into the toilet bowl was “holy shit!” but there was nothing holy about it.

  5. I thought fish oil was supposed to be GOOD for you! Whoa!

  6. Old Gregg Says:

    Your poor thing. Granted, I’m laughing hysterically at you, but your poor thing nonetheless.

    If I saw a fish advertised as “May Cause Anal Leakage”, I’d almost be tempted to buy it just for the novelty factor.

  7. Sharting is bad 😦

  8. What the fuck sort of butterfish were you eating in SA? Everyone knows butterfish. It tastes soooo good. You know what it will do but you can’t help yourself. You just have to have ONE MORE BITE! You know what the morning will bring. Actually, you must have a strong constitution. You know what will happen VERY SOON! Methinks those church gong serial killing Adeladian Fucks were selling Flake as butterfish because they showed the deep frying shit a photo of a fridge that had butter in it and therefore felt they had gotten around false advertising legislation, and lets be honest, in South Australia, they probably had.

    Look. Butterfish You will taste no fish that you desire more in the moment. It is the true culinary siren of fish. Just beware of dangers to shipping and your local beach.

  9. Ah bollocks. Just realised this post was from June. Shows you how bored I am.

  10. Cherax destructor Says:

    Dunno what yer complaining about Buck…If you had half a clue you’d have patented the whole episode as a new process for converting fish into bio-diesel and made a motza!

  11. On the upside, you may have just discovered the newest dieting trend!
    Prescribe it to the wobblers.

  12. You unknowingly got sold a fish called Escolar. It’s well known now that it causes such unfortunate problems.

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