Gregory House found himself faced with one of the dilemmas man has been trying to solve since the orgin of the speices - what to have for lunch. There had been a "spill" of undetermined orgins in the cafeteria right before the lunch hour and it was shut down for cleaning. That meant he had to forage in the lounge for food. Apparently everyone else had gotten there before he did, for all that was left in the cupboards was bread, condiments, an apple and a tin of Spam.

What kind of idiot brings Spam to work? House wondered as he debated over the two choices. With a sigh he begrudigly grabbed the can of mystery meat. He was going to break a major rule of his right now and cook. If you could call opening a can and assembling a sandwhich cooking. In his book, it did count. But when not thinking with other parts of their anatomies, the thing man thinks with more then his head is his stomach.

After finding the bread stale but workable, he wrinkled his nose slightly as he put a slice of the offending meat onto the bottom slice and topped it with a healthy glob of mustard. After thirty seconds in the microwave, he sat down to eat his creation. After the first two bites he decided that he could survive on the crap meat if faced with nuclear fallout or a zombie apocolypse. However, he would be leaving some food in his office from now on.

From the edge of the table, the Spam can stared him in the face and a question popped into his mind. What about the horrible ingridents he'd heard about being in Spam? Not nitrates or hidden fats, but things like goat lips and sheep testicles. He'd even seen someone claim online that there was pig anal lining in the pink cube of unidentified meat.

Don't do it, his mind warned him as he reached for the can. You'll regret it.

Like he was going to listen to his conscience after all these years? Scoffing slightly he picked up the can and began to read it. Nothing jumped out at him that made him want to spit out his food on sight, but the mentions of pork, beef and chicken "product" was a little disturbing. He was so involved in trying to discern what "product" meant that he didn't even notice when Wilson came into the lounge.

The younger man gawked at his friend a little, surprised that the can of unidentified meat substance was holding his attention so raptly. He only kept Kosher when it came to Spam, but House wasn't what you'd call particular when it came to food. Still, he gave a little cringe when he thought of what the contents of the blue can might be.

"You read your Spam?" Wilson asked in disbelief.

"Of course." House replied. "If I'm eating hog testicles I want to know it."