Bigger Fish to Fry
SpongeBob and Squidward were both too much in love to care about the little things that bugged them. They both had bigger fish to fry. Crack oneshot.

I watched a SpongeBob marathon the Saturday before Easter, two episode-segments of which I hadn't seen before (the names of which would give the game away). After watching, I immediately walked back into my bedroom, switched on my laptop and started churning out this crazy crack-fiction.
I for one am happy with the result; happy enough to release it, in fact. But I warn you – if you dislike crack and flame anyway, I should tell you that I've had experience of kicking, and being kicked in, the metaphorical balls.
Dedicated to Tampon Masturbation, who I admit may have inspired the sheer crackness of this pairing. Rated T for spoilers and innuendo and stuff.
Disclaimer: SpongeBob isn't mine, thanks for listening tick logo.


SpongeBob SquarePants was inquisitive at heart. His curiosity dug him into scrapes, and managed to launch him out of them. His yearning had led him into the skies with the jellyfish, and into the grounds of a magic well. He'd experienced some pretty crazy adventures because of this natural desire to learn the why of everything.

Even so, when he heard strange rumors about an unnamed intruder into his neighbor's love life, he didn't want to inquire. He didn't even want to know.

He had bigger fish to fry.


Squidward Tentacles tried to keep as far out of SpongeBob's life as cephalopodely possible. And when by chance their paths crossed at work, at home or anywhere else, it was reluctantly that Squidward tried to hoist him out of the Final Jeopardies they blew. He was a self-absorbed soul, but preferred it to stay that way as far as poriferans were concerned.

Ergo, when he saw his neighbor compose an innuendoed letter to a mystery person out of newspaper headlines, he just ignored it. He didn't even want to know.

He had bigger fish to fry.


SpongeBob liked the simplicity of existence. He was a fry-cook, he had friends, he loved everything, it was as easy as that. So he found the pressures of preparing for a date very disconcerting.

There was just so much to decide. Even seemingly irrelevant things like neckties and eyelash color mattered so much in the rollercoaster of romance. If he slipped up, even once, he'd look bad in the eyes of his prospective suitor.

He tried asking Squidward for help, but he was busy making a series of romantic phone calls to someone the sponge couldn't hear. So SpongeBob tried to make it on his own.

He had bigger fish to fry.


Squidward was an artist, ranging from abstract to post-impressionist at the flick of a pencil. Therefore, on the night his date was due to come round his house for the night, he tried to pull off the perfect atmosphere.

This was harder than it looked. The man had to find the balance between under-emphasis and far-too-showy. It was like balancing on a teetotal with a pound of tar and a pound of feathers; there was always a danger of everything falling off and him looking like a chicken.

That night, SpongeBob's lovesick rantings about someone he couldn't decipher were quickly turned away at the door in favor of checking the kelpweed sauce. Squid just didn't have the time.

He had bigger fish to fry.


SpongeBob didn't want to be plagued in his dreams by his date. He didn't want to be haunted at the grill by whispered throes of lust, of sick desires, of sweet nothings. He didn't want the not-yet-fulfilled fantasies of their first time under the sheets to interfere with an all-important karate match with Sandy.

But they did, whether he liked it or not. And he lost the match.

Yet he ignored the calls for a rematch, for a set time tomorrow, for everything, and focused on the feelings the memories procured. He ignored Mr Krabs' persistence to get his coworker to stop jacking off in the bathroom. He ignored it all, even the grill. Especially the grill.

He had bigger fish to fry.


Squidward had never had an experience like that before. The thrills of directing his own super-band put together with the fun of the snowball fight couldn't compare with the feeling of frequent kisses on the lips, of tongue-wrestling on the bed, of seeing things during the day that reminded him so much of his beloved. (Plankton had been a big help, considering the…difference in size of assets, let's call it that for now.)

The days at work and at home alone seemed more mundane and frustrating than ever. The minutes ticked by like hours, and hours seemed years. When they were together, however, time sped by on roller-skates to make up for the sag of efficiency earlier on in the day.

The questions about why his coworker wasn't making enough patties remained unanswered, as long as Squidward was distracted.

He had bigger fish to fry.


SpongeBob had the advantage of a good memory when it came to the past. He could remember pretty much everything if he focused hard enough (with the exception of his shoelaces).

But for the purposes of this relationship, he forgot all the times he was ridiculed by his desire, all the times they clashed, all the time he was sent sprawling into the ground, begging for mercy. The memory disposal unit that was deactivated after the fancy restaurant scandal went back into action, flushing the moments that made the time together sour.

He forgot it all. He forgot everyone else as well.

He had bigger fish to fry.


Squidward could remember when the two of them first met. They literally ran into each other on the streets, one buying some clarinet reeds, the other 'tying up some loose ends'.

The cephalopod had been zapped by the surge of attraction, even back then. At first, he put it out of his mind, but talking had proven that his hunch was correct – he had finally come across someone single and available. A date was arranged, just to give Squidward something to do.

Now it had reached the levels of ecstasy. He had finally achieved the unachievable. He no longer had the outside world to drag him down.

He had bigger fish to fry.


SpongeBob and Squidward shared more in common than they thought at that moment.

They were both at the pinnacle of their love lives.

They were both deliriously happy with the result.

They had both fallen head over fins in love.

At the same time, they had both left everything behind to pursue their loved one.

They were both now ignoring each other, and the world.

They were both too much in love to care about the little things that bugged them.

They both had bigger fish to fry.


If you leave a fish to fry for too long, it gets burnt. Then you're eating charcoal.


He was playing a dangerous game.

He didn't ask to have two people at his feet, mind you. Convenience and a memory like a sieve had left him caught up in a bizarre love triangle.

One was the little man-boy, his punching bag from so long ago. The other was a stranger from the streets, the cashier of a greasy spoon. The first he had held a small candle towards for some time; but the second was the handsomer of the two.

It was crazy when you looked at it. An ex-convict shared between his cousin and his cousin's friend, neither relationship knowing about the other.

Crazy, but not impossible.

BlackJack BuffPants didn't know how long he could keep up this wild double-life. After all, at some point in a masquerade, the disguise has to slip.

But when it did, he wouldn't complain. He'd move on and leave the victims to pick up the pieces. He always did.

He always had bigger fish to fry.