As I was seasoning my swai fillets just now, I caught myself berating them aloud, chastising them for believing they were entitled to a free meal, mocking them for being stupid enough to thoughtlessly swallow the first wriggling bait they saw. And as I sprinkled on the last of the lemon juice, still lording my freedom over the fish, explaining to them that their blind greed and stupidity is why they ate the bait and I’d soon be eating them, it occurred to me as I closed the oven door that instead of verbally abusing butchered fish, maybe I should think about getting out of the house, because I have clearly gone CRAZY AS BALLS.

I literally said to them, in what I now recognize was a painfully ironic dumb guy voice, “Oooh, look at me, I’m a fish, I can just eat whatever!” This account is, unfortunately, thoroughly accurate and sadly autobiographical. In defense of the fish, they may have been stupid, but they expertly fulfilled the primary requirement I have of fish, that being that they were goddamned delicious.

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