Tuna

The conversation was in full swing.

“And they say his balls have swollen to the size of tubas Hank. Can you picture it, choo-bas!?”

“Choo-bas? – What the hell is a choo-ba George?”

“Oh sorry, a ‘too-Ba’,” corrected George; remembering he was on the telephone to a man who was impossibly old, and impassably American.

“A toob-ba, a toob-ba what!? A two-by-four? A toob-a-supaglue?

“No, a too-ba, the size of his balls; as big as too-bas, they say!”

“Asbigastoobas – what the hell is Asbigastoobas? Is that what they say he has now – is that why his nuts are so damn big? Jesus George, what sense are you making here!?”

“No. His nuts are so big because of the choo-ma Hank, the choo-ma’s what has made his nuts so big.”

“The choo-ma - that’s what made his nuts big George?”

“Yeah the choo-ma, well to you - ‘the too-ma’.”

“The too-ma!? Like the tomb ‘a Tutankhamun!? Or you mean too-na, as in too-na fish sandwich?”

George cut in sharply, “yeah Hank, that’s it, he has a too-ma from a too-na fish sandwich.”

“Really George? Jeez!”

“NO! Not ‘really’ Hank, Jesus. Bloody hell listen, he has tes-tic-u-lar cancer. That’s why his balls are so big. They have tumas, too-mas in. It’s serious."

 George could hear Hank thinking on the other end of the telephone line.

…

“Imma call you back George.”

The line went dead.