Mickey hasn't been doing shit lately with this blog (and you might say what he actually does here is shit, too), so I asked if I could use it to air some stuff out that's been on my mind the last few days. Somebody might as well use the space. He promised he wouldn't edit anything I wrote so I trust what you read will be my words. The guy may be terrible at keeping up his blog and sometimes he smells bad, but he doesn't fuck around when it comes to the First Amendment.
I guess I should introduce myself. Some people call me Alice, others go with Fishy. More often than not, the author of this blog calls me Fishy-Fucker or even just Asshole. Truth be told, I don't really care what you call me because I'm a guppy and guppies can't understand English, idiot. We don't even have ears. I live in the corner over by the kitchen in a tank that is my sole 25-gallon domain. Or at least it was until last Friday. Apparently it wasn't good enough to just let my little red 1.5-inch self have the Roman ruins and the fake plastic plants as my personal playground. No, I spent my Friday night being chased around the tank by a gourami ten times my size. It was like Tom versus Jerry except there was no hole to dive into at the last second and no fortuitously-timed scalding hot iron to fall on the gourami's head. Just round and round in circles with that tiger-striped dickhead nipping at my ass.
In fact, there was a second, slightly less menacing gourami and two smaller, rough-looking characters about my size- tetras, I think. The stumpy and ragged condition of their tails and fins makes me think their two larger friends have been nibbling on them. Not a good sign for yours truly.
Anyway, I can't remember the last time I had to fight for a meal around here. I should have known that this whole king-of-the-castle situation wouldn't last. After all, I'm only here for the entertainment of Mickey and that blonde chick and it's not like I'm doing backflips or bouncing a beachball on my nose. They tried to teach me a trick involving some ice cubes and a 9-iron, but I just ignored them. Sometimes I sit motionless on the bottom at a slight list and that usually gets them concerned, but other than that I just do my own thing.
Whatever. I'm pissed. These four new fishtards are pooping all over my tank and eating my food. Mickey, I appreciate that you're letting me get this all out here, but you're a dick. I didn't ask for any of this.
Above: Me in happier times- privacy, room to breathe, and nothing trying to eat me.
Below: The new state of affairs.