Once upon a time, there was a man. The man ate a can of tuna. Then, hell froze over. The end. Well, not exactly the end. You see, hell melted. Now, the man who ate the tuna had to answer to the fish, as they both found themselves in hell. “What did you do to end up here?” asked the fish. "I must have a drink before telling you." And so I drank a giant fishbowl, the kind at those establishments that also serve things not on plates. The rum coated my insides like the fish was coated outside, scaly and unpleasant. But that's when it happened. The worst possible thing. Moldy string cheese. I stared at it in absolute horror, utterly dumbfounded by the sight. I could feel the rum gurgling down the rumble zone, threatening to claw it's way back out onto the floor. "Not again!" I ran fast and far from the fermented fromage. But I couldn't help myself. The attraction was too strong. I lusted for that cheese, so strongly. So stringy. So stanky. And I ate it. And by that I mean, I tripped and ate shit. It was tremendously embarrassing. At by god, I loved every second of it. The shame, the guilt, and the pleasure. It was in this way that Satan became my best friend and tuna eating companion. Then, I Praised Caroline for she freed me from all of my sins. Praise Caroline. Good cheese.
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