Sure, most people who buy tunas like this break them down and sell off their parts to sushi restaurants around the world, but that seems like such a waste. Why buy something this expensive if you can’t show it off? That’s why I’ve been displaying my giant tuna in the entrance hall all spring, in between my mastodon fossil skeleton and the cardboard box with my first wife’s remains. For a while we weren’t sure which was causing the smell, but now we’re pretty sure it’s the fish.
I’ve always loved a good piece of sushi, the more dangerous the better. Some people think they’re taking a risk by eating fugu, the pufferfish with lethal poison in its liver and skin, that needs to be carefully prepared to avoid death.
I’ve taken things one step further in my personal genetics lab/greenhouse, where I’ve had my scientists crossbreed the everyday haddock with the hemlock plant and created a monster creature with poisonous flowers coming out of its nostrils. Properly prepared, it makes a delicious plate of fish and chips. Treated carelessly, it causes painful convulsions followed by death.
Or at least the convulsions looked painful while my first wife was experiencing them. My second wife too. I just don’t learn my lessons! You may think it’s indulgent to have a genetics lab on-site just to make new varieties of poisonous sea creatures, but in fact it has enabled me to do so much more. It used to be so hard to find competent staff before I realised I could simply clone the best of them and have an endless supply of docile, subservient butlers and house managers. And whether I’m breeding to fill employment vacancies or just to harvest organs for my own personal needs, by having the lab under my roof I avoid paying expensive retainer fees or inflated hourly wages to an outside contractor. It’s the best of all possible DNA-manipulation options.
But enough of scientific experiments. It’s the end of the school summer semester, which means time to pick up my children from boarding school and drop them off at overnight camp. They say it’s not the amount of time you spend with them, but the quality of that time. So the two-hour journey from Eton to wherever the heck we throw them for the season is hopefully enough to create the strong bond that will allow me to criticise and browbeat my children for years to come without them completely cutting me out of their lives.
Although, on second thoughts I could always just crossbreed them with a gentle puppy and end up with far more docile offspring in their next iteration. See you in the fall!