Do fish dream (of windmill-powered sheep)? (Why would(n’t) they?)

I asked whether fish get tired of their surroundings.  J says fishy memories are so bad that they are always amazed at all the new places to explore.  If that’s true, why do I hear rumors that Jacques has a degree in cartography?

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Hot days

Here are the promised photos:

SoCal sunset

SoCal sunset: on the drive home

traumatic day for C & J: dead fish + spider/fly infestation

9/1/13 traumatic day for C & J: dead Girlfriend + spider/fly infestation

Kingsley's emerald poop

Kingsley’s emerald poop

If you look closely, you can see a green line protruding from Kingsley’s posterior end. 1/2 disintegrated moss ball & green poop = vegetarian fish.

Content fishies = happy owners 🙂

A new king challenges the throne

Girlfriend broke up.

When we woke this morning, she was searching intently (headfirst) for something in the floor.  Maybe it was a toilet, so I threw her in ours, where she seemed to gain a bit of gusto; was she feigning for freedom?! (probably not, but it would’ve worked. Perhaps the long months without her a lover have run her into the ground.)  J tossed a spider in there too, and neither of them permitted me to utilize the facilities, even in the face – or rear – of near-critical urgency.  As far as anyone (except the guppy and eight-legged fiend, I suppose) knows, they’re still in there.  Could this be the world’s first spider-fish friendship?  I’ve heard nothing brings you closer than drowning in the same toilet.

Yesterday, the tank welcomed Ziggy, a tiny black sharklike dude who feasts all day on scummy glass; Kingsley, a stealthy ebony Moor and potential usurper of Hamburglar’s throne (the ‘burg has gotten quite round and slothy as of late – corrupted by his voracious lust for power – can no leader go untainted?); and Elphie, an indigo beta and the new community bicycle.   Although Kings is of a size to reckon with Hams, things seem to be going swimmingly – as J put so eloquently: “Hamburglar and Kingsley are good songs,” and by songs, she means friends.

Jacques yet lives despite the crushing weight of Hamburglar’s fat, oppressive fins.  Sushi (or is it Sashimi?) seems to be growing bored of her current surroundings and dreams of breaking into interior design, but how will she afford trade school with no savings and no income?

Will Kingsley win the royal seat?  Will the denizens of Fishtopia welcome their new negro overlord, or mutiny and beseech the powers that swim for the reinstatement of His Fishy Fatness?  Will Sushi find her Zen paradise, or be forever denied Fishvana?  Will Ziggs ever stop sucking, or will he get fatter than Hambo off of J’s lazy cleaning (i.e., lack thereof)?

Stay tuned for photographic chronicling and further blabberings concerning these epic events!  Sing, o choirs of cacophany!  Let them eat fishcakes!