Notes from the Time Biscuit Tripped Balls after Eating a Fish

Biscuit experiments with fish and the results are disastrous for all involved.


A Word from the Editor:

Long-time intern Biscuit (who once wrote a thrilling piece for The Zephyr Lounge about a meeting with the Hamburglar) now works at TZL:AD as an executive intern, which means he has the privilege of being our source for human experimentation. Recently, we sent Biscuit on a dinner trip with specific instructions to eat salema porgy, a type of fish that has been linked to ball-tripping. These are the notes taken another TZL:AD intern observing Biscuit over the couple of days following his consuming of this fish.


Friday, June 17, 2016

5:22 pm :: Biscuit and I arrive at the restaurant.

5:23 pm :: We have to wait for a table.

5:47 pm :: Biscuit and I are seated. Our waiter, Omri, takes drink orders. Since Biscuit is under strict instruction to not consume alcohol (even though he really wants to), he orders a water with lemon. I, not concerned with solidarity, order a double-scotch, since the boss is paying because it sounds delicious!

5:51 pm :: Omri takes our order. Biscuit, again because he’s under strict instruction, orders the Salema Porgy. I order a medium-rare steak.

6:25 pm :: Service is slow.

6:27 pm :: Our food finally arrives. We discuss an Alternet article about this fish as we eat our meals. Biscuit cries a little when he starts taking bites of the fish. I chuckle inside, excited to see what will happen to “executive intern” Biscuit after eating this fish.

This innocuous-looking little shit is about to fuck Biscuit up, (Image by Brian Gratwicke, available under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license).

6:52 pm :: Biscuit and I get the check and due to uncertainty over the timetable (after all, everyone is different), we hurry to pay the bill and get back to the motel.

7:11 pm :: Biscuit and I get back to the motel. Our room smells like pee and there is a deuce floating in the pool. We decide to watch TV.

8:19 pm :: Biscuit complains he doesn’t feel so well and shuffles into the bathroom. He screams because the sink is stained brown and there’s mold on the tile floor.

8:22 pm :: Biscuit starts to hurl. He complains of blurred vision and muscle weakness as well. When I ask him what I can do to help him feel better, he asks me if I can make the waiver he was forced to sign prior to the trip “mysteriously disappear” from The Zephyr Lounge offices. I told him The Editor locked it in a safe, which prompted Biscuit to let loose a vulgar tirade the likes of which I had never heard while simultaneously puking his guts up.

8:41 pm :: Biscuit starts talking quietly in the bathroom. He mentions something about “the peas are the least impressive vegetable” to some guy named Stu. Biscuit has officially started tripping.

9:03 pm :: Biscuit lets out and scream and tries to flee the bathroom, but slips and runs into the wall. He tells me millipedes are coming from the shower head and are screaming at him. I decide I want a soda.

9:06 pm :: I get ready to leave to grab a soda. I ask Biscuit if he wants anything. He replies, “do something to assassinate the lizard battalion’s leader.”

9:10 pm :: I kick the soda machine and something red comes out. I shrug and start drinking it on my way back to my room.

9:12 pm :: Biscuit lets out another scream and tells something to “stay back.” I ask him about it, to which he replies, “the millipedes are singing in the rain!” Biscuit has turned the shower on.

10:16 pm :: Biscuit finally stops freaking out and emerges from the bathroom, bleeding from his knuckles and shivering. He climbs into bed and just lays there with his eyes open. I’m super creeped out right now.

10:39 pm :: Biscuit, exhausted, falls asleep. I decide to turn in too, just in case Biscuit starts freaking out again in the middle of the night.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

1:06 am :: Biscuit wakes up and pukes all over the floor next to his bed. He starts quietly crying to himself. I ask him what’s wrong, to which he replies, “there is a moose outside of the window and it’s trying to get me to swim with it.”

1:29 am :: Biscuit gets out of bed. I ask where he is going, to which he replies, “the moose won’t stop, so I’m just going to do what he says.” Biscuit, hanging brain, opens the motel room door. I slip on my shoes and follow. I want to make it perfectly clear, I’m wearing boxer shorts and shoes. That’s fucking it.

The noble moose, who apparently forced Biscuit into swimming in the deuce-pool. (Image is in the public domain).

1:32 am :: Biscuit jumps in the pool and starts to splash a bit. “There!” he shouts to the imaginary moose. “Are you fucking happy now?!” I lay on a lounge and smoke a cigarette.

2:09 am :: Biscuit exits the pool and tells me the moose has decided he’s swam enough. We head back to the motel room.

2:12 am :: We re-enter the motel room. Biscuit goes into the bathroom and violently hurls again. I ask him if he’s going to shower, to which he replies, “no, because the screaming millipedes still occupy the shower head.” Biscuit continues puking.

2:31 am :: Biscuit emerges from the bathroom and climbs back into bed. He smells awful. He shivers.

2:47 am :: Biscuit is asleep. I close my eyes too.

7:03 am :: Biscuit wakes up and starts hurling again. I roll my eyes and plot to kill The Editor for thinking this shit was a good idea. Biscuit tells me the moose is in the bathroom.

8:11 am :: Biscuit exits the bathroom and returns to bed. I shove four Benadryl and some water down his throat, which he almost gives back to me. But, he surprisingly keeps it down and just shivers in bed.

8:36 am :: Biscuit falls asleep. I decide to catch some more shut-eye myself.

11:54 am :: I wake up. Biscuit is still passed out. I decide to quickly leave and grab something to eat without waking him.

12:02 pm :: I return to the motel room. Biscuit is still passed the fuck out. I decide to hang out in the room and keep an eye on him.

12:17 pm :: Biscuit is still passed the fuck out so I abandon keeping an eye on him in favor getting some fresh air. After all, Biscuit smells very bad and I’m honestly quite sick of this shit already.

12:44 pm :: While walking around the motel, I run into a woman named Catarina, who is staying in another motel room. We start talking about stuff. She eventually offers me a drink. I happily oblige.

1:32 pm :: I sit in Catarina’s motel room and suddenly hear a scream. I bolt out the door and realize Biscuit, still hanging brain, is running around the motel declaring to the world that the screaming animals are going to kill him. I quickly turn around and see Catarina fully exposed on her chair, propositioning me. Making the stupid decision, I opt instead to find Biscuit.

1:33 pm :: I can hear Biscuit, but can no longer see him. So I stop looking. I begin figuring out what I’m going to say to The Editor about taking Biscuit’s position at TZL:AD. I decide to return to Catarina’s place.

1:54 pm :: I get back to Catarina’s, but she tells me I had my chance and to go fuck myself. When I protest, she throws a lamp at me. Oh well, at least I’ll always have that picture…

2:04 pm :: I return to my motel room, then quickly leave because Biscuit puked and shat all over his bed. I go to the pool to relax.

6:11 pm :: I’m awoken by a police officer who tells me Biscuit was arrested for public indecency. I apologize for him and tell the cops that he ate Salema porgy. The cop looked confused, so I explained to him that the Salema porgy has been linked to intense hallucinations and severe illness akin to food poisoning. The officer is puzzled as to why Biscuit would do such a thing, so I explain that The Editor is a sadistic prick who wanted to publish content about the fish and what it has been known to do to people. The cop said Biscuit and I should probably look into finding new jobs, then tells me that Biscuit is holed up in a nearby hospital under intense observation.

6:41 pm :: I arrive at the hospital and look in on Biscuit. He is sedated. He fucking reeks at this point.

6:49 pm :: I go into the waiting room and fall asleep watching ESPN.

8:10 pm :: I wake up cursing myself for prioritizing Biscuit over Catarina. I look in on Biscuit. He’s still sedated. I wonder if I can smother him and no one will notice…

8:18 pm :: I go to the cafeteria downstairs and find it’s closed. I hit up a vending machine instead, creating a dinner spread consisting of candy bars, packaged cakes, and a Coca-Cola.

8:26 pm :: I return to the waiting area and continue watching ESPN while eating dinner. Biscuit wakes up, has another freak out about bees or something, then is sedated again.

8:34 pm :: I speak to the doctor about Biscuit and tell him the situation. He wishes to keep Biscuit overnight for observation. I agree. The doctor informs me that I cannot sleep in the waiting room, so I’ll have to come back tomorrow. Reluctantly, I don’t put up a fight. I’m fucking tired, cranky, and secretly hope they’ll give Biscuit an accidental dose of, like… something… that will kill him… fuck all, I’m tired!

9:16 pm :: I arrive at the motel. I jaunt over to Catarina’s motel room. I hear her going at it with someone…

9:25 pm :: I get back to my motel room and brace myself to re-enter. Surprisingly the room is clean. I collapse into my bed and watch some TV before falling asleep.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

7:17 am :: I wake up and groan. Biscuit is still in the hospital, but I have no desire to see him. Checkout time is 11 am, so I still have a bit of time to get something to eat, pack up my stuff (and Biscuit’s) before heading to hospital to pick him up. I think I’ll procrastinate.

8:02 am :: I leave my hotel room and head to a nearby diner to get some grub. I can still hear Biscuit’s screams in my head. I wonder if the son of a bitch who thought this story was a good idea The Editor will spring for some therapy when we get back.

8:26 am :: I am waiting on some eggs and hashbrowns.

Image by JeffreyW, available under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

8:33 am :: My eggs and hashbrowns arrive. I’m underwhelmed.

9:19 am :: I get back to my hotel room and veg out for a while. I also pack my stuff and haphazzrdly throw Biscuit’s into his bag.

11:37 am :: Biscuit is discharged from the hospital and we head back to the office.

Author: Robert L. Franklin

Ah, the About Me section - social networking's excuse for you sounding like an elitist prick. Hmm... what to say? What to say?

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