A Day at the Phish Market
F
Fish Auctions- High-intensity bidding wars that occur in the early A.M. hours in many coastal Asian communities, places where diets revolve around sea creatures of all colors, textures, and degrees of sliminess. Often the most coveted catch, which can fetch bids in the hundreds of thousands of dollars, is a Bluefin Tuna. However, once in a blue moon (cake), an angler will reel in something seriously sought-after…
This just in from Kanazawa, Japan! The Kanazawa fish market has been flooded, no—not with water—but with smelly jam-band wooks, after the decapitated head of Phish front man Trey Anastasio was hauled out from the ocean, cleaned, and immediately transported to the auction block for bidding early Tuesday morning.
Local fisherman Hanate Sagajiwa, who was credited with the catch, said that reeling in the head was quite shocking, but the real shock was the rancid scent that filled his nostrils as the Phish faithful congregated to bid on their hero’s scalp. Here we cut to Sagajiwa’s live reaction as white guys with crusty dreads and crude, homemade tie dye tee shirts surrounded him at the auction block:
“OOO what that smerr? It smerr so bad! It smerr rike shit! It smerr worse than four-day old Oyster reft in trunk of Honda Civic!” Sagajiwa went on to say that the putrid body odor wafting off of the psychedelic burnouts was worse than anything he had smelled in his 14 years of selling fish at the market.
Auctioneer Botan Kagawa wiped the residual vomit off of his mouth and started the bidding on Anastasio’s head at 80 million yen, to the audible chagrin of the Phishheads eager to take home their cult leader’s prized Phish head. “80 million yen, going once!” projected Kagawa into the sea of unemployed, unkempt goat yogis wearing Grateful Dead founding member Ron “Pigpen” McKernan tribute tees and precipitating a cloud of soot that would put Peanuts’ Pig-Pen to shame.
“I don’t have the cash, but I can give you this reflective sticker of a telekinetic yeti climbing out of a rhinestone jukebox” offered up a present-day David Letterman meets California gold-rush 49’er type character in tattered charcoal-stained overalls.
“If you no have money, you no get fish!” retorted Kagawa, already beginning to get aggravated with these Gorgonzola-scented groupies.
“I can go on CashorTrade right now and send you over tickets to the entire MSG run this Summer!” pled a desperate, overweight woman in a rainbow propeller hat with a shoddy tattoo of Tinkerbell smoking dope out of her wand visible on the loose, fat skin being pushed through the slots in her originally white Birkenstocks.
“You people do not respect our sacred fish market culture! Prus, you all smerr rike godzirra nutsack hair in burning down fermented soybean paste factory! If nobody can make opening bid, we throw Trey back into bay!” snapped Kagawa, his patience waning.
“Wait, I have a mystery pill, some ear plugs, and an eighth-ounce of penis envy mushrooms that my boy Kyle grew up in Burlington!” Croaked an emaciated dude in Dancing Bear pajama bottoms and a knitted leaf top that looked like something the biblical Adam would have worn if the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden was actually whippets.
*Kagawa hucked the decapitated head back into the Pacific. The Phisheads pooled together the little money that they had to rent the Titan submersible to go searching for the head, but once down in the depths they were too focused on getting high and singing “Yellow Submarine” to stay focused on their mission*