Also this, salvaged from the sunken treasure boat S.S.Re-Re

This is going on in my office fridge right now, only I cant hear it because of the proximity of my office to the men's room, whose every flush sounds like an F-15 tearing through my cochlea.

Bon Apetit.

salmon: oh, hi pork chop.

Pork Chop: hey salmon. how are you?

Salmon: pretty good. I'm just getting over some midatlantic mercury
poisoning, but I feel great.

Pork Chop: Oh really? yeah, you are so pink. Now I know where the expression "salmon shaft" comes from.

Salmon: hahahahaha.

Pork Chop: HA! hoooooooo thats funny.

Salmon: hahaha.

Pork Chop: great stuff. great. stuff.

Salmon: So you got plans later?

Pork Chop: yeah I'm getting devoured in Fort Greene tonight.

Salmon: that's funny, so am I.

Pork Chop: really? thats insane.

Salmon: Julia Langbein's house?

Pork Chop: yeah. thats crazy. She said she was going to coat me in pecans and fry me in butter.

Salmon: no way! she said the same thing to me!

Pork Chop: that fucking bitch.

Salmon: she cant be doing BOTH of us, can she?

Pork Chops: Come on now. she's a crazy pig. but I don think she's that crazy. Plus she's very poor, like a Chinaman. why such a feast of kings? two entrees?

Salmon: dammit. get me out of this fridge. I feel very uncomfortable the way people in the office keep opening the fridge and staring at me questioningly as I sit here in my stanky rawness next to a tin of Tasters Choice.

Pork Chop: hey-- and a pork chop.

Salmon: awkward all around. I hope julia doesn't follow through on her weird fantasy of covering her face in a huge raw salmon filet as she types meaninglessly at her desk, or of wearing me as a brooch on her periwinkle Anne Taylor twinset.

Pork Chop: I don't think you have to worry, Salmon. Like I said, she's very poor, like a Croate. Listen, if I know Langbein, and I only met her about 30 minutes ago when she lifted me from a leatherfaced old woman's shopping cart, I know she's probably going to cure you and eat you later, and I'm getting the pecan roasted treatment.

Pecan: hey guys!

Salmon and Pork Chop: Hi Pecan! What's up?

Pecan: nothin. I'm on my way out.

Salmon: word? why? is it cause of my stink? I am sorry.

Pecan: No, I think Julia decided not to use me. I think she's going to do a mustard-rosemary rub instead.

Pork Chop: God, that old fallback?

Tasters Choice: will you guys shut up?

Pork Chop: Why dont you Tasters Choose to Fuck yourself.

Tasters Choice: fatty assholes.

Salmon: rim job.

Pecan: hey hey! stop it, guys.

Salmon: whatever. I'm just in a bad mood. it's the heat. and the being dead. Listen, Pork Chop, you go, and you do it, and you give it your all. You're obviously the man for the job. I wish it could be me, but it's you.

Pork Chop: I appreciate that Salmon. I'm gonna do this dinner and I'm gonna think of you as I do.

Tasters Choice: you guys are gay.

Pork Chop: there is a picture of a woman sniffing a volcano of diarrhea your label. why dont you shut it.

Taster's Choice: Gaybov.

Salmon: Whatever, Turd Magma, no one's ever even tasted you and youve been here since 1998. You're just bitter, like always.

Pork Chop: nice, salmon.

Pecan: hey! can we all just do a group hug?

All: OK, alright (groaning agreement, apologies)

[no one moves]