This is my first Crack-fic, so please be kind with the reviews[:
Thank you,
SilverWings
Tunas flow from right to left. A tasty look, you're a tuna from Ooma.
As I walk through the Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo, I hear my stomach grumble. As a walk- Err, glomp around the market, I see the object that could very well fill my empty stomach. It is a beautiful tuna fish. It must be high quality, considering it is from Ooma.
Clearing the wall of Tsukiji market, I'll go and eat you anytime.
You must always be prepared for lean.
My feet stomp at a steady rhythm as I walk past the clams, mussels, and salmon, heading toward the "Maguro" sign. I scan through the tuna. You may call me delusional, but I think everyone can find their perfect tuna. My tuna is the one 2nd from the left end. I pick it up with my bright pink tentacles, savoring the feel of the scales against my suction cups.
I don't know anything about you. So? It doesn't matter though.
I may be falling in love with a tuna. I don't know anything about it. I don't even know its name. These measly details don't matter. I fell in love at first sight, as I saw those beautiful silver fins shimmering in the sunlight. Nothing can take away my love now. I am too deeply infatuated with the tuna.
Well, anyway. Let's dance together, just you and me.
I let out an exasperated sigh.
"Tuna, listen. I know I don't know much about you, but I think I love you."
The tuna stayed in its limp position.
"Come on, tuna. What do you want to do?"
The tuna remained limp.
` A slow song began playing, as I took my tentacles on the tuna's fins and began dancing.
Tako Luka Tuna Fever. Get into the slow rhythm.
Forget all the bad stuff.
As we dance, I feel happiness fill me. The music calms me down. I can only think of this moment. I'm in the now.
Tako Luka Tuna Fever. I'm a mollusk.
If you put me in takoyaki, It'll be tasty. But no, no, don't.
I know for sure I'm in love at this point. My glazed eyes stare at the limp tuna's eyes. I pull the tuna in for a kiss. Just when my lips are about to come into contact with the tuna's lips, I am pulled away. I forgot I was a mollusk myself, and supposed to be at my section of the store. I flip my head around to see a kitchen chef. I watch as he walks me and the tuna slowly to the kitchen.
I refused to let this be the end of us. We've only just met. I'm not going to let myself turn into some tasty takoyaki. And I am most definitely NOT going to let my beautiful tuna turn into sashimi. I instinctively wrap seven of my slippery tentacles around his arm, and one around my tuna. We slide off of the chef's arm and make our way toward the entrance of the fish market.